title: The Dark Side of Close Relationships

author: Spitzberg, Brian H.
publisher: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc.
isbn10 | asin: 0805824863
print isbn13: 9780805824865
ebook isbn13: 9780585115177
language: English
subject  Interpersonal communication, Interpersonal conflict.
publication date: 1998
lcc: BF637.C45D335 1998eb
ddc: 158.2
subject: Interpersonal communication, Interpersonal conflict.
cover

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The Dark Side of Close Relationships

Edited by
Brian H. Spitzberg
San Diego State University
William R. Cupach
Illinois State University

LAWRENCE ERLBAUM ASSOCIATES, PUBLISHERS

1998                            Mahwah, New Jersey London
 
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Copyright © 1998 by Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by photostat, microfilm, retrieval system, or any
other means, without prior written permission of the publisher.
Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc., Publishers
10 Industrial Avenue
Mahwah, NJ 07430

Cover design by Kathryn Houghtaling Lacey

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

The dark side of close relationships/edited by Brian H. Spitzberg
and William R. Cupach
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and indexes.
ISBN 0-8058-2486-3 (cloth: alk. paper).ISBN 0-8058-2487-1
(pbk.: alk. paper)
1. Interpersonal communication. 2. Interpersonal conflict.
I. Spitzberg, Brian H. II. Cupach, William R.
BF637.C45D335 1998
158.2dc21 98-9549
CIP
Books published by Lawrence Erlbaum Associates are printed on acid-free paper, and their bindings are chosen for
strength and durability.
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 
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CONTENTS

Preface vii
Introduction: Dusk, Detritus, and Delusion: A Prolegomenon to the Dark Side of
Close Relationships xi
I: Seducing 1
1. Fatal Attraction
Diane H. Felmlee 3
2. The Dark Side of Jealousy and Envy: Desire, Delusion, Desperation, and
Destructive Communication
Laura K. Guerrero and Peter A. Andersen 33
II: Confusing 71
3. (Mis) Understanding
Alan L. Sillars 73
4. Who's Up on the Low Down: Gossip in Interpersonal Relationships
Marianne E. Jaeger, Anne A. Skelder, and Ralph L. Rosnow 103
III: Bruising 119
5. Patterns of Conflict in Personal Relationships
Susan J. Messman and Daniel J. Canary 121

 
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6. Codependence: The Paradoxical Nature of the FunctionalAfflicted Relationship
Beth A. Le Poire, Jennifer S. Hallett, and Howard Giles 153
IV: Abusing 177
7. Sexual Coercion in Courtship Relations
Brian H. Spitzberg 179
8. Obsessional Relational Intrusion and Stalking
William R. Cupach and Brian H. Spitzberg 233
V: Losing 265
9. Losing, Leaving, and Letting Go: Coping With Nonmarital Breakups
Anne L. Weber 267
10. To Love or Be Loved in Vain: The Trials and Tribulations of Unrequited Love
Ellen Bratslavsky, Roy F. Baumeister, and Kristen L. Sommer 307
11. Disrupted Interpersonal Relationships and Mental Health Problems
Chris Segrin 327
VI: Musings 367
12. Investigating the Positive and Negative Sides of Personal Relationships: Through
a Lens Darkly?
Karen S. Rook 369
395
Author Index
411
Subject Index

 
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PREFACE
This volume represents a follow-up to our 1994 publication, The Dark Side of Interpersonal Communication (Lawrence
Erlbaum Associates). In the preface to that volume, we argued, "To fully understand how people function effectively
requires us to consider how individuals cope with social interaction that is difficult, problematic, challenging, distressing,
and disruptive" (p. vii). In this companion volume, we expand our focus from interaction to close relationships (although
it is obvious that the two foci overlap).
Aside from the inherent need to investigate the bad as well as the good of interpersonal relationships, we and our
colleagues simply find the dark side metaphor to be intellectually arousing: It is intriguing, heuristic, and provocative. It
stimulates investigation of important, yet often neglected, phenomena and it especially encourages consideration of the
hidden and forbidden and the paradoxical and ironic, elements of human relating.
The current volume once again assembles the cutting edge work of first rate scholars. As in The Dark Side of
Interpersonal Communication, the subject matter and stylistic approaches are diverse, reflecting the broad and
interdisciplinary domain that is the dark side of human affairs. Our selection of topics is somewhat arbitrary, reflecting
only a sample of emerging scholarship in the interdisciplinary study of relationships. The authors come from the ranks of
communication, psychology, sociology, and cognate disciplines.
In the brief opening chapter, we present a philosophical frame for investigating the darker sides of interpersonal behavior.
Here, we briefly explore some of the meanings, assumptions, and implications associated with employing the dark side
metaphor. We pick up where we left off in our epilogue to the previous Dark Side volume. Between the lines it should
 
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be apparent that human interest in the dark side is timeless and may itself be suggestive of something in human nature.
In chapter 1, Felmlee extends her provocative work regarding fatal attraction. She reviews previous and current research
demonstrating that the very features that attract us to another individual, sometimes lead to disaffection and relationship
dissolution. Felmlee explores theoretical explanations of this phenomenon and suggests implications for theories of
relational development and dissolution.
Chapter 2 offers an in-depth view of the dark side of jealousy and envy. Guerrero and Andersen concisely situate these
complex emotions in a larger context of relationship emotions, focusing on the negative psychic and interpersonal
consequences surrounding the experience and expression of jealousy and envy. They also discuss ways in which
communication can be used to cope with jealousy and envy.
In chapter 3, Sillars considers how properties of communication and relationships figure into the complex concepts of
understanding and interpersonal perception. Sillars identifies many of the key features of perception in close relationships
en route to examining the nature of understanding. Drawing on recent empirical data, he discusses common sources of
misunderstanding in relationship conflict.
In chapter 4, Jaeger, Skelder, and Rosnow present an explication of the functions and consequences of gossip in
interpersonal relations. Framing gossip in the context of larger networks of interaction, these authors provide data that
support some common beliefs about gossip while debunking other cherished assumptions.
Patterns of conflict in romantic and family relationships are considered by Messman and Canary in chapter 5. Unlike
most examinations of conflict that focus on styles, strategies, and tactics, this chapter takes a look at what is known about
sequences and extended patterns of conflict. The authors offer some novel insights into the nature and occurrence of
entrenched, interlocking sequences of interaction that relationship members coproduce.
Chapter 6 portrays the paradoxical features of codependent relationships. Le Poire, Hallett, and Giles adopt a relational
conceptualization of codependency. Using the theory of inconsistent nurturing as control, they demonstrate that the
attempts of codependent partners to control the adverse behavior of afflicted (e.g., alcoholic) partners may actually
reinforce and perpetuate the undesirable behavior. Important implications for both research and treatment are derived.
Spitzberg, in chapter 7, reviews diverse and copious literatures bearing on the incidence of sexual coercion among
courtship couples. He carefully elaborates the notion of coerciveness and reviews various theories that
 
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account for its occurrence. Then, he explicates an interactional approach to understanding coercionan approach that
focuses prominently on the role of miscommunication.
We lay the foundation in chapter 8 for our own program of research regarding stalking and obsessive relational intrusion.
Specifically, we review empirical evidence concerning individuals who receive unwanted pestering or harassment by
another person who desires relational contact. After outlining the diverse profiles of intrusion perpetrators, we attempt to
clarify the nature and incidence of various forms of intrusion behavior. Then, we consider the consequences for and
coping responses of victims of unwanted pursuit.
Weber tackles the subject of nonmarital break ups in chapter 9. With style and flair, she weaves an engaging tale about
the occurrence and aftermath of relationship uncoupling. Weber persuasively demonstrates the importance of sense-
making processes and offers practical observations about overcoming (and even benefiting from) relationship loss.
In chapter 10, Bratslavsky, Baumeister, and Sommer provide a synthesis of research on the trials and tribulations of
unrequited love and they characterize the respective experiences associated with the roles of the rejector and the would-
be lover. Interdependence theory is employed to explain differences in the emotional outcomes for rejectors and would-
be lovers. The authors conclude that mutuality of love, rather than giving or receiving of love, is what is required for
happiness and fulfillment.
Segrin, in chapter 11, reviews a vast literature to show how disrupted and distressed interpersonal relationships can both
lead to and result from various mental health problems. He explores the complex links between psychological and
relational spheres, elaborating specifically on schizophrenia, depression, loneliness, alcoholism, and eating disorders.
Such disorders often represent a sense of losing one's senses, or losing one's place in relationships.
In chapter 12, Rook critically inspects the body of research that investigates the relative impact of positive and negative
experiences in personal relationships. On one hand, research suggests that relationships meaningfully contribute to the
psychological and physical well-being of individuals. On the other hand, several studies indicate that negative aspects of
relationships tend to cancel or outweigh the benefits. Rook carefully dissects this literature, showing methodological
weaknesses that undermine our ability to draw strong inferences. These limitations are then used to fashion an agenda for
more rigorous future research into the relative importance of positive and negative events in relationships.
Collectively, the scholarly journeys made in this volume are intended to illustrate the complexities, both moral and
functional, involved in close
 
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relationship processes. The intent is neither to valorize nor demonize the darker aspects of close relationships, but rather,
to emphasize the importance of their day-to-day performances in relationships. Only by accepting such processes as
integral to relationships can their role be fully understood.
Finally, we would like to express our gratitude to Tonya Felder, Katherine Ferrer, Jacqueline Post, and Michelle
Schroeder for their invaluable assistance in the preparation of the indexes.
BRIAN H. SPITZBERG
WILLIAM R. CUPACH
 
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INTRODUCTION: DUSK,
DETRITUS, AND DELUSIONA PROLEGOMENON TO THE DARK SIDE OF CLOSE RELATIONSHIPS
All life is a struggle in the dark.
Lucretius (The Nature of Things, circa 45 BC)
Life may indeed be a struggle in the dark, but a few years hence from our first venture into the shadowlands, the
metaphor of the "dark" side of human behavior (or perhaps human nature) continues to intrigue. We began our journey
with a collection of chapters on the dark side of interpersonal communication (Cupach & Spitzberg, 1994). This previous
collection included chapters on such topics as incompetence, equivocation, paradox, dilemmas, predicaments,
transgression, privacy violation, deception, hurtful messages, abuse, and the darkness of normal family interaction. Our
original impetus was the belief that the social sciences were overly pollyanna-like in perspective. This is perhaps most
evidenced by the contents of most undergraduate textbooks, littered with commendations to be attractive, open, honest,
self-confident, assertive, visionary, good-humored, supportive, cooperative, empathic, clear, polite, competent, and to
develop and maintain normal friendships, heterosexual romances, and resilient nuclear families. Our argument was not to
usurp these maxims of social preference, as much as to provide a more balanced understanding of some of the paradoxes
of such morally muddled principles when examined
 
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in the functional fabric of interaction. Attractiveness can be a curse (Tseëlon, 1992), openness can be costly (Bochner,
1982), honesty is often more destructive than deceit (Barnes, 1994; Bavelas, Black, Chovil, & Mullet, 1990; DePaulo,
Kashy, Kirkendol, Wyer & Epstein, 1996; Rodriquez & Ryave, 1990), self-esteem can be self-absorbing (Gustafson &
Ritzer, 1995) and a source of aggression (Baumeister, Smart, & Boden, 1996). Assertiveness tends to be unlikable
(Spitzberg, 1993), visionary leadership can be misguided (Conger, 1990), humor can be violent and oppressive (Dundes,
1987; Jenkins, 1994; Keough, 1990), supportiveness can aggravate rather than heal (LaGaipa, 1990, Ray, 1993; Rook &
Pietromonaco, 1987), cooperation and empathy are susceptible to exploitation (Tedeschi & Rosenfeld, 1980), clarity is
often the least functional form of communication (Cerullo, 1988; Kursh, 1971; Nyberg, 1993; Rue, 1994; Tooke &
Camire, 1991), politeness can be a reflection of oppression (Janeway, 1987; Kasson, 1990), and competence in one's
communication can backfire in myriad ways (Spitzberg, 1993, 1994a). Friendships are often fraught with difficulties
(Fehr, 1996; Rawlins, 1992; Rook, 1989; Wiseman, 1986) and same sex romantic relationships (Huston & Schwartz,
1995) and alternative models of families (e.g., Altman, 1993) often are quite functional compared to their ''normal"
alternatives (e.g., Blount, 1982; Finkelhor, Gelles, Hotaling, & Straus, 1983; Moltz, 1992; Poster, 1978).
It is possible to know, albeit harder to accept, the shadow side of ourselves, the essential darkness that breeds ill
will. Envy, greed, and jealousy are the fundamental components of this malice. . . . when the negative components
of our emotional life are denied or ignored (because of guilt or fear), the positive ones suffer, too. As always, love
and hate are inexorably intertwinedBerke (1988, p. 12, 13)
The obverse of looking on the bright side of life is that the things we often consider dark in their moral or functional
implications are instead valuable in surprising ways. Gossip (Bergmann, 1993), obscenity (Allan & Burridge, 1991),
embarrassment (Miller, 1996), humiliation (Miller, 1993), paradox (Palazzoli, Boscolo, Cecchin, & Prata, 1978; Weeks &
L'Abate, 1982), narcissism (Emmons, 1984; Watson & Biderman, 1993), jealousy (Fitness & Fletcher, 1993; Pines &
Aronson, 1983; Steams, 1989), envy (Schoeck, 1966), anger (Averill, 1993; Canary, Spitzberg & Semic, 1998; Stearns &
Stearns, 1986), aggression (Gilmore, 1987; Twitchell, 1989), violence (Spitzberg, 1997; Tedeschi & Felson, 1994),
enmity (Volkan, 1988), hate (Schoenewolf, 1991), regret (Landman, 1993), failure (Payne, 1989); cultism (Festinger,
Riecken & Schachter, 1956; Galanter, 1989; Keiser & Keiser, 1987), sadomasochism (Chancer, 1992), child
 
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abuse (McMillen, Zuravin, & Rideout, 1995), and many other presumptively "dark" traits, states, and processes all have
their adaptive potential (see Cupach & Spitzberg, 1994; Spitzberg, 1994b). At a truly systemic (and theoretical) level, for
example, a certain degree of dishonesty and exploitation in a society may create some level of consumer caution, and
therefore less overall exploitation, compared to systems in which consumers presume honesty, and thereby suffer from
unchecked and wide-scale exploitation (Schotter, 1986). Relationships obviously come replete with costs as well as
rewards (Rook & Pietromonoco, 1987; Sedikides, Oliver & Campbell, 1994). As Duck (1994) emphasized, any
comprehensive approach to human relationships requires not only an understanding of the darker aspects of relationships,
but the integration of these aspects into theories of relating and into an understanding of the entire relational system.
Love and hate are indeed impossible to disentangle.
Modern political science owes a great deal to Machiavelli's . . . insights . . . that the traditional concentration on
the "ought," on the manner in which princes and statesmen ought to behave, interferes with the fuller
 understanding of the "is" that can be achieved when attention is closely and coldly riveted on the ways in which
statecraft is in fact carried onAlbert O. Hirschman (1981, pp. 294-295)
If evil is imagined as other than who or what we are, then it will remain an aspect or segment of life and
experience denied to us by the limitations of our imagination. Somehow all that is dark and objectionable has to
be seen as material for a full experience of quintessential human life, as well as for the unfolding of our own
individual naturesMoore (1994, p. 186)
The dark side is hardly a novel concept (Pratt, 1994). Many observers of the human condition have drawn attention to the
more suboptimal (Coupland, Wiemann, & Giles, 1991), asynchronous (Mortensen, 1997), morally ambiguous (Sabini &
Silver, 1982), inept (Phillips, 1991), challenging (Duck & Wood, 1995), absurd (Lyman & Scott, 1970), troublesome
(Levitt, Silver, & Franco, 1996), stigmatized (Goffman, 1963), perverted (Peak, 1996), relationally exploitative (Fillion,
1996; Goldberg, 1993), destructive (Fromm, 1973), hateful (Berke, 1988), punishing (Ferraro & Johnson, 1983; Long &
McNamara, 1989; Rosen, 1996), criminal (Katz, 1988), and intrinsically darker sides of our behavior (Adams, 1977) and
nature (Anders, 1994; Harper, 1968; Watson, 1995). What has often been missing in the social sciences, taken broadly, is
the examination of the dark side as not just a Gordian knot of paradoxes, but also an integrative theoretical metaphor. A
more complete understanding and appreciation of the dark side of human action requires an examination of certain
propositions about the nature of this darkness (i.e., what this darkness is, and who or what we are, rather than what it, or
we, ought to
 
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be). We believe that the dark side metaphor implies and means many things for social science.
There are many darknesses. There is the darkness of creative solitude and revery. There is the darkness of loving
adoration and satisfying supplication and thanksgiving, existential and mystical, human and divine. There is the
darkness of tragic suffering and watching, the sudden end of life and hope and virtue. There is the darkness of
premonition of evil, depression, and then demoralization. There is the loss of love and the certainty of
deathHarper (1968, p. 7)
There are indeed many darknesses. First among the many shades of darkness is perhaps the most obvious. The dark side
is concerned with the dysfunctional, distorted, distressing, and destructive aspects of human action. Charny (1996) and
Baumeister (1997) described such features as forms of evil. These forms of evil are so characterized because they
systematically diminish one's own (or another's) ability to function.
Second, the dark side is concerned with deviance, betrayal, transgression, and violation. Behavior that is awkward, rude,
and disruptive can annoy, and behavior that boldly transgresses can disintegrate. Enculturation designs a preference for
continuity and comfort. Activities that run counter to the normative, the taken for granted, the expected, and the preferred
represent pursuits that strike at the core of the dialectic between autonomy and communal consciousness. One person's
criminality can be another person's cry for freedom. Violation of norms and preferences is often a source of darkness.
Third, the dark side is concerned with exploitation of the innocent. Excessive extraction of valued or valuable resources,
manipulation of the ignorant, cruelty toward the helpless, and constraint of basic freedoms reflect many of the
fundamental egocentrisms of social life, and the difficulties of promoting collective welfare in a cultural climate of
individualism. Harming those who have little power to protect themselves from harm is another source of darkness.
Fourth, the dark side is concerned with the unfulfilled, unpotentiated, underestimated, and unappreciated in human
endeavors. The loves lost and the loves never found, the things we should have said, the paths we could have taken, the
regrets and resulting self-recriminations all describe worlds we wish we had created and are painfully aware of having
(just) missed. Eden was in our grasp and darkness is now a constant shadow on a world ensnared by a serpent.
Fifth, the dark side is concerned with the unattractive, unwanted, distasteful, and repulsive. Those people deemed
unattractive are often normatively shunned, alienated, and isolated. Such symbolic imprisonment can serve to bind group
identity, but it can also create a type of hell for those individuals disavowed by the collective.
 
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Sixth, the dark side is concerned with objectification. The treatment of people's basic humanity as if inhuman,
diminishing a person's personhood, and categorically reducing an individual to the status of thing are all ways of
deanimating humans. Animals we may be, but our capacity for symbolism, creativity, humor, self-reflection,
conceptualization, and moral perspective provide us with potential far beyond the level of the inanimate. One need not
presume a spirit to be spiritual, but one must be more than a mere object to discover anything worth-while beyond the
objective.
Finally, the dark side is concerned with the paradoxical, dialectical, dualistic, and mystifying aspects of life. Things are
seldom entirely what they seemand when they are, we often refuse to accept them as such, often creating another level of
paradox. Excavations of paradox, dilemma and dialectic reveal the complexities of our symbolicity and our seemingly
limitless capacity for folly, error, conflict, capriciousness, and entanglement.
As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere
beingCarl Jung (Memories, Dreams, Reflections, 1963, as cited in Prott, 1994, p. 260)
These seven "deadly sins" of darkness are probably neither comprehensive nor mutually exclusive. They do, we hope,
begin to enlighten some of the topography of the dark side. However, being able to see the terrain still does not
necessarily reveal much in the ways in which the terrain should best be traversed. Here, we recommend that people who
journey to the dark side keep two suggestions in mind. First, excursions into the dark side are often attempts to
understand those domains of human activity that are still unexplored, lying in the shadows, and waiting for the
enlightenment of scholarly investigation. Second, investigations of the dark side should be about the virtuous, as well as
the venal, vexing, and venomous aspects of human nature. Indeed, the dark side is about the ironies involved in
discovering that what is presumed to be evil often has moral and functional justification; likewise, what is presumed to
be satisfying, legitimate, and righteous often is reprehensible and prone to abuse and destructiveness.
In maps from antiquity, the edge of the enlightened, known universe is often noted by some foreboding to the effect that
"beyond here, there be dragons." A study of the dark side is a boundary-spanning endeavor that must ignore the
imaginary dangers of disciplinary and moral edges, requiring instead that scholars intrepidly sail beyond the comforts of
their own disciplinary maps and ideological homelands to discover the new domains that lie beyond ordinary and
normative pursuits.
 
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It is in Morality as it is in Nature, there is nothing so perfectly Good in Creatures that it cannot be hurtful to any
one of the Society, nor any thing so entirely Evil, but it may prove beneficial to some part or other of the
Creation: So that things are only Good and Evil in reference to something else, and according to the Light and
Position they are placed inBernard Mandeville (1732, p. 367)
The study of the dark side often ends up blurring the distinction between good and evil or the bright and the dark of the
human condition. There are those who find such endeavors to lack moral perspective and therefore, intellectual gravity
(e.g., Rawlins, 1997). The argument is twofold. First, the juxtaposition of investigating topics such as gossip and
embarrassment next to rape, violence, and deadly activities (e.g., unsafe sex) trivializes the notion of darkness in general,
and the seriousness of the darker topics therein. Second, if all darkness has a silver lining and if this silver lining is
viewed solely in the language of functionalism, then we lose our moral bearings and perpetuate a science without an
ethical voice. We believe such a critique entirely misses the point.
We do not apologize for what is often a functionalist rhetoric of science. We could have pursued the construction of an
ideological and critical architectonic in which to judge the human praxis examined in this and our previous text.
However, it is obvious that the functionality of behavior must be at the root of any ethical system, unless we buy into the
ontological philosophies that have wreaked such ideological repression and inevitably reflect ethnocentric concepts of
right and wrong. Reductionistic moral maxims and universals have wonderful idealistic rings of assent, but their
operationalizations in the variegations of human activity become far more problematic and often do not lend themselves
to simplistic assessment of implications. The study of the dark side is, in part, a recognition of this moral complexity and
ambivalence and constantly cautions us against advancing our ethical forays in the dark.
Second, the very issue of the moral implicature of human behavior can only be questioned competently when people are
aware of the nature of the dark side (e.g., Makau, 1991). To the extent that a polyannish rhetoric has infected our
textbooks, studies, and teachings, we are hardly able to escape our prevailing ideologies to occupy a vantage point from
which moral issues are examined (Burgoon, 1995; Lannamann, 1991; Parks, 1982, 1995). Social behavior is
multifunctional, and moral judgments of such behavior are conceptually and empirically independent of its functioning
(Wojciszke, 1994). Therefore, only by delving into the dark side of human behavior and discovering its functions are we
likely to develop an informed sense of the possible moral issues implicit and explicit in social action.
 
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Furthermore, the notion that only aspects of humanity that threaten life and limb deserve the moniker of darkness ignores
the lifetimes of quiet struggle, dissatisfaction, and sense of frustration, anger, and despair that result from merely
suboptimal forms of human endeavor in our significant (and even mundane) relationships with others. For example,
Marshall's (1994) finding that psychological abuse tends to be more predictive of trauma than of physical abuse does not
morally excuse physical abuse. Yet, enormous efforts of public policy, expenditures of social resources, and an almost
endless number of psychological interventions effectively ignored the dynamics of psychological abuse under the overly
simplistic ethical assumption that physical abuse is the most significant problem. Any critique of a functionalist
examination of the dark side (on the grounds that it trivializes the true dark side) creates an overly dichotomous
separation of dark and light that we reject. A primary rationale for our excursions into the dark side is to discover that the
boundaries between light and dark are amorphous and are seldom as distinct as commonly presumed by our sciences and
ethical commentaries.
We believe there are moral issues involved in the study of the dark side and that such investigations raise moral
questionsboth about the phenomena studied and the process of investigation itself. However, we also believe such moral
debates are best engaged when informed by sound functionalist scholarship. For example, research that investigates the
potential positive functions of child abuse (McMillen et al., 1995) raises obvious moral issues (e.g., Does conducting
such research provide potential legitimization of the act it is studying? Does the suggestion of positive functions trivialize
or minimize efforts to eradicate such tragic actions or increase societal tolerance for the act of child abuse itself? Does
asking the question imply an overly paternalistic, functionalist, and insensitive scientific ideology?). However, if such
investigation uncovers characteristic differences between victims who do and do not reveal resilience and self-
actualization despite their tragedy, then modes of intervention, and perhaps prevention, are much better informed and vast
realms of human suffering are eventually eradicated. Moral censure of such lines of investigations thereby runs the risk of
running afoul of its own best intentions. Moral debate without a functionalist science to inform the issues of the debate
risks reducing rhetoric to its mere status, with no lessons for the actual habitus and praxis of human pursuits. In essence,
science without ideology, if such can be envisioned, lacks a moral compass; yet, morality without science is dangerously
disconnected from the empirical world. Furthermore, positing such dichotomies itself unnecessarily exaggerates the
schism between principle and practice at a time when common ground is needed most (Parks, 1995).
 
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Darkness is very close by, at all times. We learn the ambiguity of darkness. There is a cold dark, full of fear and
loneliness, and a warm dark for embracing and acceptance. . . . There is "the dark side of the earth" and "the
theoretic bright one." . . . Darkness has its advantagesHarper (1968, p. 4, 5)
In conclusion, there is a sense of seduction regarding the forbidden, the deviant, and the destructive (Goldberg, 1993;
Katz, 1988). There is fascination in the human psyche with those things that nature, nation, and relationships have
forbidden or made taboo. This collection of essays continues the journey begun by many others through time and the
journey we began in earnest in our earlier collection. The current selection of topics is intended to be neither
comprehensive nor fully representative of the dark side of close relationshipsindeed, we continue to search the shadows
for the next venture into the dark side. Perhaps paradoxically, we hope that many more dark journeys still await us.
All nature is but art unknown to thee; All chance, direction which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony not understood;
All partial evil, universal good.
Pope (1733, p. 249)

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I
SEDUCING
 
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1
Fatal Attraction
Diane H. Felmlee
University of California, Davis
''. . . the traits that make him appealing can make him appalling in the flash of an eye."
New York Times article describing
President Bill Clinton (Purdum, 1996, p. 36)
It begins with an attraction; two people are drawn inexorably to one another and an intimate relationship ensues. More
often than not, however, it ends with disillusionment and heartbreak; the relationship does not work out. In such
instances, a person's perceptions of a romantic partner shift from that of idealization and infatuation to irritation and
resentment. In discussing the causes of a breakup, for example, divorced individuals often mention that their former
partners were flawed, or lacking in desirable attributes (Goode, 1956; Spanier & Thompson, 1984). The implication is
that they did not get what they wanted in a romantic partner. What happened? What went wrong? How is it that a once
beloved partner is now viewed in such a negative light?
The answer proposed here suggests that for some, the process of attraction is less straightforward and more paradoxical
than is usually assumed. The central focus of this chapter is that there are often close links between the qualities in a
partner that initially allure us, and those that we later find problematic. Like a moth to a flame, individuals are drawn to
the very aspects of another individual that they eventually will dislike. This process is termed fatal attraction, where fatal
is used in the dictionary sense not of "deadly,"
 
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but of "foretelling a sequence"; in this case, the initial attraction foretells a relationship sequence that ends in
disenchantment (Felmlee, 1995).
The purpose of this chapter is to provide an in-depth investigation of the process of fatal attractions in intimate
relationships. First, related research is discussed in the areas of interpersonal attraction and personal accounts of
relationship breakups. Next, theoretical explanations for fatal attractions are described and previous research on the topic
is summarized. New information and analyses on this relationship issue are then presented in which the dark and
corresponding light sides to fatal attractions are examined. Finally, this chapter ends with a discussion of the implications
of this pattern of romantic disenchantment for theories relevant to the initiation and dissolution of intimate relationships.

The Sunny Side of Attraction

The process by which one person is attracted to another receives considerable attention in literature. A number of factors
were found to play a significant role in interpersonal attraction, including proximity (e.g., Festinger, 1951), physical
attractiveness (e.g., Hatfield & Sprecher, 1986), similarity (e.g., Newcomb, 1961), and familiarity (e.g., Zajonc, 1968).
One factor that was the focus of extensive research, for example, is physical attractiveness. Many studies on this topic
find support for the matching hypothesis, that is, that attractiveness is significantly correlated among members of romantic
couples (e.g., for a meta-analysis, see Feingold, 1988). Other studies conclude that there is a social stereotype that links
beauty and goodness, whereby physically attractive people are thought to possess a number of positive characteristics
relating to social and/or intellectual competence (for meta-analyses, see Eagly, Ashmore, Makhijani, & Longo, 1991;
Feingold, 1992; Jackson, Hunter, & Hodge, 1995). Finally, there are also gender differences in the salience of physical
attractiveness. Mate selection studies find that physical attractiveness is more important in a prospective mate for men
than it is for women, whereas women are more likely than men to prefer an ambitious, educated, intelligent, and/or
dependable partner (e.g., Buss, 1994; Sprecher, Sulllivan & Hatfield, 1994; for a meta-analysis, see Feingold, 1990).
The role of similarity in attraction has also gained considerable attention. There is a link between attraction and similarity
on a number of dimensions, such as demographic characteristics (e.g., Surra, 1991), attitudes (e.g., Byrne, 1971),
personality traits, such as extreme gender role adherence (Smith, Byrne, & Fielding, 1995), cognitive traits, such as
cognitive complexity (e.g., Neimeyer, 1984), and social-cognitive and communication skills (e.g., Burleson & Denton,
1992).
 
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Nevertheless, research on the role of similarity in the attraction process is not without its critics. Rosenbaum (1986), for
instance, argued that rather than similarity leading to attraction, dissimilarity in another is avoided (i.e., the repulsion
hypothesis). Others maintained that the link between attitude similarity and attraction is greatly overestimated
(Sunnafrank, 1991). Finally, scholars also note that the process of becoming attracted to another person occurs in an
interactional context and that a dynamic communication perspective is needed to understand the intricacies of attraction
(Bell, Tremblay, & Buerkel-Rothfuss, 1987; Burleson & Denton, 1992).
Stage models represent an additional line of development in the field of interpersonal attraction. These models delineate
sequential steps in the selection of an intimate partner (e.g., Kerchoff & Davis, 1962; Lewis, 1973; Murstein, 1970), with
most models maintaining that one of the steps is based on similarity. In the premarital dyadic formation framework, for
instance, Lewis (1973) proposed that the attraction process goes through five stages, beginning with "perceiving
similarities" and ending with "achieving dyadic crystallization." In an alternative model, Duck (1977) argued that
attitudinal similarity predicts interpersonal attraction early on in acquaintance. In the later stages of a relationship,
however, similarity in the context of interpersonal constructs (i.e., one's worldview) becomes more important than
attitudinal similarity.
In general, the emphasis in the attraction literature is on the positive and appealing qualities of a potential mate or on the
relatively smooth, sequential stages by which the attraction process progresses.
Relatively little work, however, attempts to examine potentially troublesome aspects of the attraction process. Two
exceptions that relate most directly to fatal attractions are: the clinical literature, which introduces the concept of
disenchantment, the process by which individuals in serious relationships become disenchanted with partner
characteristics that they initially found appealing (Hatfield & Rapson, 1993) and a small study of married couples in
which Whitehouse (1981) examined not only the positive aspects of partner characteristics, but also those that are
negative. She found that the qualities reported as most annoying in a spouse were either an exaggeration, implication, or
the opposite of those that were most appealing. Despite these types of exceptions, our knowledge of the dark side of
attraction is comparatively meager (cf. chaps. 2 and 8, this volume; Freeman, 1985; Goldberg, 1993; Tseëlon, 1992).

The Circumstantial Nature of Breakups

Another relevant area of inquiry examines the so-called "grave-dressing phase" of relationship dissolution (Duck, 1982),
that is, the public story
 
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that each partner constructs about how and why a relationship ended (e.g., Harvey, Orbuch, & Weber, 1992). One of the
most common reasons given for breakups in such accounts concerns some type of dissimilarity in the interpersonal
characteristics of the dyad. Different interests, for example, was the most common reason given for the demise of a
relationship in a recent study of couples (Sprecher, 1994). Communication problems, desire for autonomy or
independence, and problematic characteristics of the partner (e.g., lack of supportiveness and lack of openness) are other
typical rationales (e.g., Baxter, 1986; Cupach & Metts, 1986, Sprecher, 1994; Stephen, 1987). These personal accounts
suggest that the ending of a romantic relationship is relatively opaque and unpredictabledifferences surface between
partners, communication problems arise, someone needs more autonomy or has undesirable traits. Such explanations
make the romantic attraction process more intriguing and complex. After examining these breakup accounts, for example,
the question arises: "Why is a person attracted in the first place to an individual who has different interests, is difficult to
communicate with, or possesses undesirable qualities?" The answer proposed here is less circumstantial and implies that
sometimes individuals are attracted to those potentially vexing aspects from the beginning.

The Dark Side of Attraction

There are a number of ways in which the attraction process has a contradictory or problematic side, although such
negative issues in close relationships generally receive relatively little regard in literature (Duck, 1994b). To begin,
research on interpersonal attraction proposes that the norm of homogamyin which like attracts likeis dominant.
Nevertheless, countless individuals defy this norm and are attracted to those whose demographic characteristics differ
from their own. Other societal norms are ignored in attractions to individuals who are already married or to those of the
same gender. Given that society often deems such pairings as inappropriate, couples in these situations are likely to
encounter difficulties in their dealings with the larger society, if not in their own interactions. Furthermore, attractions
can have a seriously dark side to them, in the case of individuals who are attracted to those who would do them
harmeither emotionally or physicallyor to those whom they would harm (Marshall, 1994; Spitzberg, 1997).
Unlike these obvious dark sides of the initiation of romantic liaisons, the phenomenon of fatal attraction is more subtle.
Yet, it may also be more
 
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common. In fatal attractions, individuals are drawn to partners because of certain pleasing qualities, but they later dislike
aspects of those same qualities. Examples of such attractions include a woman who was interested in a man because he
was "funny and fun," but disliked his "constant silliness," and a man who was attracted to his girlfriend's "refreshing
innocence," yet found her "lack of maturity'' problematic (Felmlee, 1995). In such cases, the characteristics that
individuals disliked in their former companions were closely related to those that attracted them in the first place.

Fatal Attraction: The Theory

Why does such a pattern of disillusionment with a partner occur? At least three different factors help explain the
emergence of fatal attractions. First, a person's virtues and vices may be one and the same. Such a conclusion is implied
in the clinical psychology literature, where we see discussions of the shadow side of personality (Goldberg, 1993; Jung,
1973; Moore, 1992). According to Goldberg (1993), in her discussion of the dark side of love: "The line that separates
normal from pathological is, at times, frighteningly thin. Protectiveness can easily turn into possessiveness; concern into
control; interest into obsession" (p. 8). Popular literature also reiterates such a message. A New York Times reporter
summed up his assessment of President Clinton as: "His strengths and weaknesses not only spring from the same source,
but could also not exist without one another. In a real sense, his strengths are his weaknesses, his enthusiasms are his
undoing and most of the traits that make him appealing can make him appalling in the flash of an eye," (Purdum, 1996, p.
36). If it is true that virtues and vices are inextricably linked, this means that when people are drawn to the strengths of
another, they encounter that person's shadow side as well. Given such reasoning, it is not surprising, then, if people
dislike the very qualities they once found alluring in a partner.
A second explanation for fatal attractions operates at the dyadic, rather than the individual, level. This explanation
focuses on the fact that intimate couples develop their own interactive system that evolves over time (Felmlee &
Greenberg, 1996) and that such a system can facilitate the development of fatal attractions. Dialectical theorists, for
example, argue that individuals in close relationships confront ongoing tensions between pairs of contradictory forces,
such as those of autonomy and connection, novelty and predictability, and closedness and openness (e.g., Altman, Vinsel,
& Brown, 1981; Baxter & Montgomery, 1996). According to such perspectives, a couple's experience pulls from both
poles of forces simul-
 
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taneously; that is, they feel the need for both autonomy and connection, novelty and predictability, as well as closedness
and openness in their relationships. One reason that fatal attractions occur, therefore, is that individuals choose a partner
on the basis of qualities that exemplify one pole of a dialectical force (e.g., novelty), but then they find that their
relationship is lacking in the opposing pole (e.g., predictability).
Finally, the concept of fatal attraction is also informed by relationship theories that focus on the construction of meaning.
Duck (1994a), for example, maintained that giving meaning to one another's behavior is one of the central purposes of
personal relationships and this task constantly evolves and is never completely finished. From this perspective, a fatal
attraction is seen as a shift over time in the meaning of a partner's characteristic, a shift that represents only one moment
of what is, in fact, a fluid, ongoing transformation.
The theoretical arguments regarding the shadow side of personality, opposing relationship tensions, and the plasticity of
meaning help explain why fatal attractions occur; that is, they provide an explanation as to why someone would reject the
characteristics that initially attracted them to a romantic companion. Nevertheless, these arguments do not address
questions concerning the over-time psychological process involved in such an attraction. Why aren't the negative
dimensions of the positive qualities of a partner rejected immediately? How does a fatal attraction unfold over time?

Fatal Attraction: The Process

There are several possible scenarios by which the type of disenchantment involved in a fatal attraction could occur.
These scenarios are labeled as follows: time will tell, sour grapes, rose-colored glasses, people pleasing, and familiarity
breeds contempt.
Time Will Tell. One possible fatal attraction process is that individuals are initially drawn to certain aspects of another
person, but the individual does not reveal the negative sides of those qualities until some amount of time has passed in a
relationship. This happens if people try to put their "best face" forward and attempt to hide or alter the less attractive
elements of their personality at the start of a romantic liaison, but then are unable to maintain this facade over time.
Sour Grapes. A second possibility is that individuals attempt to reduce the cognitive dissonance (Festinger, 1957)
generated by the demise of a
 
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once close, intimate relationship by denigrating their former partner's character. Of course, they can denigrate an ex-
partner in many ways that would not be defined as fatal attractions. Nevertheless, it may be cognitively easier to recast a
former partner's attractive qualities in a negative light (i.e., a fatal attraction) than it would be to claim that a partner
never possessed those qualities at all or to maintain that a partner had weaknesses that were completely unrelated to his
or her strengths.
Rose-Colored Glasses. A third possible scenario is that individuals are romantically drawn to the strengths of another
person and they are aware of the associated weaknesses from the very beginning, but choose to ignore or downplay these
weaknesses. When infatuation fades, however, it becomes difficult to ignore the other person's weaknesses and to
overlook related relationship tensions, and thus, a fatal attraction becomes evident. Certain vices are probably harder to
disregard than others (e.g., those that are different from one's own and those that are extreme) and so, disenchantment
with an intimate companion is especially likely in such cases.
People Pleasing. Another possible explanation for fatal attractions is that people in a relationship actually change and
they may alter in ways that cause their own attractive trait to turn into a liability. Suppose, for instance, that individuals
unwittingly or intentionally reinforce the appealing qualities and actions of a partner by complimenting and giving
attention to these qualities. Their partner then attempts to intensify or amplify these characteristics and related behaviors.
Someone aware that his romantic companion likes humor, for example, then tells so many jokes and acts so funny, that
he appears silly. Another may exude arrogance and a "know-it-all" attitude when she attempts to further impress a
boyfriend who originally found her intelligent and confident manner pleasing. (See chap. 6, this volume, on the
paradoxical reinforcement involved in codependent relationships.)
Familiarity Breeds Contempt. A final possibility is that there is a saturation effect of partner attributes over time, and that
a partner's endearing qualities can get old and become annoying. Certain relationship stage models (e.g., Huston,
McHale, & Crouter, 1986), as well as theories of emotion (Berscheid, 1983), suggest that either arousal potential
diminishes over time for routine or familiar activities or the things that were once rewarding can lose their reinforcement
value over time.
The various theoretical arguments discussed thus far help explain why fatal attractions might occur and what might
transpire in the over-time
 
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process of such attractions. Yet, how prevalent is this particular type of disillusionment? Do fatal attractions occur in a
substantial number of couples? To answer these questions, we turn to previous empirical work on romantic relationships.

Examining Fatal Attractions

Research Design
A sample of 301 individuals (200 females and 101 males), who were attending one of three lower-division courses in a
West Coast university, provided information on a past romantic relationship. Six respondents reported on homosexual
relationships. The ethnic composition of students in the department from which the data were collected was relatively
diverse, with Caucasians representing less than one half of the population: 43% Caucasians/Whites, 23% Asian
Americans, 20% Mexican Americans/Latinos, 10% African Americans/Blacks, and 4% other ethnicities.
Participants were given a questionnaire in which they were asked to think about the most recent, serious romantic
relationship they had that ended. Next, they were asked to respond to a series of open-ended questions, two of which
were used to determine whether a fatal attraction occurred: "Describe the specific qualities that first attracted you to that
individual" and "In retrospect, what were the qualities about that individual that you found least attractive?" Responses
to these two open-ended questions were placed by coders into general categories of "liked" and ''disliked" partner
qualities.
Previous Results
Previous research (Felmlee, 1995) found that for both men and women, the four most common categories of
characteristics mentioned as attractors, in order of those most frequent, were "Physical" (27.5%, e.g., attractive, eyes, and
sexy), "Fun" (17.8%, e.g., fun, and funny), "Caring" (15.6%, e.g., caring, nice, and attentive), and "Competent" (11.7%,
e.g., intelligent, confident, and powerful). Qualities that they did not like, on the other hand, were most frequent in the
categories of "Selfish"
 
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(28.3%, e.g., selfish, and insensitive), "Insecure" (22.5%, e.g., possessive, and insecure), "Undependable" (12.1%, e.g.,
dishonest, and immature), and "Physical" (10.7%, unattractive, and short), respectively.
Fatal attractions were defined as occurring when a quality reported by a respondent to be least attractive in a former
partner was similar to (e.g., a synonym), or a negative interpretation of, a quality reported as being initially attracting.
Arrogance, for example, was defined as a negative interpretation of the quality of confidence. Each of the cases was
evaluated by the author and two independent coders, and an intercoder reliability of k = 1.76 was obtained for the 301
cases.
Fatal attractions occurred for 88 of the 301 individuals (29.2%). This means that at least one of the qualities listed as
"least attractive" was directly related to one or more of those reported as initially attracting for a little less than one-third
of the participants. Fatal attractions occurred among all categories of partner characteristics, but some types were more
predominant than others. An intimate companion's qualities were significantly more likely to be fatal attractions when
they were in the categories of "Fun" (e.g., funny, and fun), "Competent" (e.g., intelligent and confident), "Excitement''
(e.g., exciting and spontaneous), "Easy-Going" (e.g., laid-back), or "Different" (e.g., different interests), than those not in
these categories, according to univariate, chi-square tests. Characteristics in the "Similar" (e.g., common interests and
similar values) and "Physical" (e.g., attractive and smile) categories, on the other hand, were significantly less likely to be
later disliked (i.e., have fatal attractions).
Thus, previous research shows that fatal attractions occur in a substantial number of romantic relationships and that a
variety of partner qualities are vulnerable to this type of disenchantment. However, we still do not know what shadow
sides surface in these types of romantic pairings. Therefore, in the following section, a new analysis is undertaken in
which the light sides and corresponding dark sides of fatal attractions are delineated.

The Light and Dark Sides of Fatal Attractions

There are numerous pairs of positive and negative components to close relationships that emerge from an examination of
the data. Three of the most common are described in the following.
 
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Fun to Foolish. The most prevalent dark side to personality reflected in fatal attractions was foolishness, with fun as its
corresponding light side. One attraction of this type involved a woman who was drawn to her partner because he was
"extremely funny and spontaneous." In retrospect, however, she said that what she least liked about this man was that he
"would embarrass me in public by throwing himself on the floor or exhibiting really STRANGE behavior." In another
case, a man's "I don't care . . . I'll have fun anyway" attitude attracted a woman, but she then disliked his "immaturity."
Thus, the implication is that the downside of a fun and humorous relationship is its frivolity and lack of seriousness.
Strong to Domineering. There were also a number of examples of fatal attractions in which domineering behavior was
mentioned as a negative quality. One man, for instance, was drawn to his former girlfriend because of her "strong
character and beliefs." He disliked, however, that she was "pushy, loud, domineering, and always took the initiative." In
another relevant example, a woman was attracted to a "strong-willed" man whom she later judged to be "domineering
and macho." In such cases, pushiness or domineering behavior, appears to be the vice associated with the virtue of
character strength.
Spontaneous to Unpredictable. A dark side of personality that emerged in fatal attractions to spontaneous partners was
unpredictability or irresponsibility. In one such case, a woman disliked that her "spontaneous" ex-boyfriend was
"flighty." In another instance, a man was of interest to a woman because he was "impulsive," but subsequently, she was
bothered by his tendency to "blow at any moment."
Numerous additional positive and negative themes occur in this data set. Examples of some of these can be seen in the
illustrations of fatal attractions listed in Table 1.1. Like the previous examples, these illustrations contain verbatim quotes
from respondents regarding the qualities that initially attracted them to a partner and those they later disliked.
Taken together, the findings discussed yield evidence of a dark side to certain romantic attractions. They do not identify,
nevertheless, the conditions under which fatal attractions are particularly probable. In the next section, factors that
potentially influence the chances of this type of disenchanting encounter are discussed and the effects of these factors are
investigated.
 
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TABLE 1.1
Illustrations of the Light and Dark Sides of Fatal Attractions, Based on Direct Quotes
Describing an
Attracting Partner Quality and Its Corresponding Disliked Quality
Light Side Dark Side
Nurturing Smothering
Confident Acted like a god
Offbeat personality Too hippie
Intense interest in me Jealous & possessive
Spontaneity, fun Irresponsibility
Strong-willed, persistent Domineering, persistent
Shy and timid Insecure
Very unique No common interest
She would have sex She couldn't say no to sex
Relaxed Constantly late
Older Too mature
Successful and focused Work commanded him
Flattering Superficial
Sense of humor Played too many jokes
Sweet and sensitive Too nice

Factors Affecting Fatal Attractions

Theoretical Arguments
Given the ironic and potentially frustrating nature of fatal attractions, it is important to understand the circumstances
under which they are more, or less, likely. There are several factors thought to influence fatal attraction propensities, four
of which are discussed as follows:
Similarity-Dissimilarity. One factor that affects the probability of a fatal attraction is whether the attraction is based on
similarity or dissimilarity. One major determinant of interpersonal attraction is similarity (e.g., Newcomb, 1961), as
discussed earlier. Similarity between partners can have a dark side, however, if it results in too much predictability in a
relationship or too little excitement and challenge. Similarity, as a basis of attraction, is also problematic when it is
debilitating to the individual or dysfunctional to the relationship. A relationship between two extreme introverts, for
example, might suffer from insufficient open communication.
Nevertheless, similarity is likely to play a role in attraction because it is rewarding in a number of ways. Similarities with
another person validate our own perspectives (Byrne & Clore, 1970) and encourage expectations that the other person
will like us (Aronson & Worchel, 1966). Characteristics of a romantic companion that are similar to those of an
individual,
 
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therefore, are apt to be positively regarded. In addition, similar characteristics are unlikely to be subject to subsequent
negative reinterpretation because people are less harsh when examining the qualities of a partner that they also share. For
these reasons, then, fatal attractions are expected to be relatively infrequent when an individual is attracted to qualities in
another person that are similar to his or her own.
In some cases, dissimilarity in a potential mate is appealing because encountering differences can lead to an expanded
sense of self (Aron & Aron, 1986) or because it fosters feelings of uniqueness or specialness (Snyder & Fromkin, 1980).
Nevertheless, dissimilarity is a much less likely source of attraction than is similarity (Byrne, 1971). Dissimilarity is also
associated with strong disliking (Byrne, 1971) and is a frequently cited rationale for divorces and breakups (Hill, Rubin,
& Peplau, 1976; Spanier & Thompson, 1984).
Clearly intracouple dissimilarity is often problematic and there are a number of reasons. First, unlike similarity,
differences challenge one's views of the world and they also raise fears that this dissimilar person to whom one is
attracted will be rejecting. Second, differences between partners are troublesome because they lead to disagreements and
conflict. Dissimilar communication skills, for example, make it difficult for members to resolve disagreements (Burleson
& Denton, 1992). Finally, discrepancies between partners in demographic characteristics, personality, or attitudes,
heighten resistance to the relationship from family and friends because couples are expected to be similar in a variety of
sociodemographic characteristics (Kerchoff, 1974).
Because of the problems inherent in differences among a couple, qualities in a partner that are viewed as dissimilar are
susceptible to disillusionment. A difference that is initially appealing is likely to wear thin over time. In fact,
dissimilarities that are attractive at the start of a relationship can be particularly fatal because they are likely to be
immediately noticed, suggesting that the size of the discrepancy is considerable. Considerable differences result in
considerable disagreements, thereby facilitating the disenchantment process.
Extreme Traits. A second factor that is thought to influence the chances of disenchantment is the intensity or the
extremity of an attractive quality of a partner. Virtues of a partner that are intense in nature are especially likely to have
clearly associated vices. For example, an extremely confident person is more susceptible to arrogance than a person who
is only moderately confident. Likewise, perhaps an individual who is unusually humble is more insecure than someone
who is only somewhat humble. Furthermore, when an individual is attracted to qualities in a partner that
 
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are extreme, this indicates that one relationship dimension is being emphasized at the expense of another. The focus of a
relationship is likely to be on autonomy, rather than on connection (e.g., when the basis of an attraction is extreme
independence in a romantic companion). Such an intense focus on autonomy should produce a desire for more
connectivity or interdependence, according to dialectical theorists. In other words, qualities in an intimate partner that are
intense or extreme are particularly likely to have a downside and to be involved in fatal attractions.
Atypicality Gender Qualities. Previous research considered the contention that atypical gender qualities are over
represented in fatal attractions. Atypical gender qualities refer to personality characteristics that are unrepresentative of
traditional gender stereotypes, such as gentleness or expressiveness in a man or confidence and assertiveness in a
woman. Atypical gender characteristics, it was argued, are not widely supported in the general culture and thus, are
especially disillusioning. Nevertheless, findings indicated that atypical gender partner characteristics are not
overrepresented in fatal attractions and attractions to intimate companions with qualities that were gender typical (e.g., an
aggressive man, or a caring woman), rather than atypical, could also end in disenchantment (Felmlee, in press, a).
Multiple Indicators of a Fatal Quality. Certain individuals also have a tendency to report a series of attractive partner
qualities that are later disliked (i.e., fatal), most of which are synonyms for, or variations of the same general quality,
according to earlier work (Felmlee, in press, a). For instance, one man listed numeroust physical traits of a woman (e.g.,
face, legs, hair, body, etc.) as the qualities that initially attracted him, but later disliked that his relationship was "too
physical" and based only on "lust, not love." Reporting so many physical aspects of this woman as appealing suggests
that he found her to be extremely physically attractive. Therefore, this tendency to describe multiple dimensions of the
same general attracting characteristic (e.g., physical attractiveness) in a fatal attraction provides additional evidence for
the argument that attractions based on qualities of a partner that are extreme are vulnerable to disillusionment. This
particular case also shows that physical traits can become a source of fatal attractions.
New Research Agenda
A number of interesting questions remain unanswered in fatal attraction research. Here two are examined: the role of
positive partner qualities that are physical in fatal attractions and how the responsibility for the breakup idea might
influence such encounters.
 
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Physical-Personality Qualities. Previous multivariate work on fatal attraction predictors used data on only nonphysical
(i.e., personality) partner characteristics (Felmlee, in press, a). It is not known if the same influences affect the chances of
a fatal attraction based on the physical aspects of a love object. Yet, the most common category of attractor in the data
discussed here is physicalboth for women and menand physical fatal attractions do transpire, as was previously shown. It
is important to determine whether the main factors of extremeness and dissimilarity, for instance, influence the likelihood
of fatal attractions for all types of partner qualitiesphysical as well as personality. It is also of interest to examine whether
traits that were once enticing in a loved one are less likely to be disliked (i.e., fatal) later if they are physical rather than
nonphysical.
Theoretically, it is possible that certain physical features of an individual, such as general attractiveness, could result in
fatal attractions. An example of such a fatal attraction would be an individual who is drawn to a partner's physical
beauty, but who does not appreciate the time and money spent on make-up and clothing designed to highlight that beauty.
Another example might be someone who finds the physique of a body builder appealing, but who resents the time that
person spends in the gym.
On the other hand, physical attributes are less susceptible to reinterpretation over time than personality characteristics of
a partner because most are probably more difficult to change. Specific physical virtues do not always have corresponding
physical vices. For instance, having pretty eyes or nice hair does not have a clear downside that would be obvious to a
partner; a person is unlikely to be judged as having eyes that are too pretty or hair that is too nice. This is not to say that
more generally, beauty lacks a dark side. Physical attractiveness has negative as well as positive (e.g., vain or snobbish)
connotations (Freeman, 1985), and it acts as a stigma by which the beautiful, especially women, are viewed as objects
(Tseëlon, 1992). Nevertheless, these drawbacks are probably more salient to those who exhibit physical attractiveness
than they are to those who admire it.
Whose Idea Was the Breakup? We know that termination of a relationship is unlikely to be mutual, that one member of a
couple often desires a breakup more than the other, and that one peron is more likely to initiate the breakup (Vaughan,
1986). Whether an individual is the initiator of a breakup probably influences the likelihood of disenchantment, although
this issue was never investigated.
Two differing scenarios concerning the role of responsibility for the breakup idea in fatal attractions can be described.
First, suppose that an individual's partner is the one who initiated the idea of ending the
 
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relationship. That person may then justify being the victim of the breakup by impugning the instigator's virtues. A fatal
attraction in such situations would be a case of "sour grapes." In one case from this data set, for example, a woman said
that her boyfriend ended their relationship because, "He got back together with his previous girlfriend. I learned about it
from mutual friends." She said that what originally attracted her, however, was that he had "an intense interest in me." In
retrospect, what she did not like about him was that he was "jealous and possessive," as well as insincere and dishonest.
The fact that her boyfriend ended the relationship may have caused this woman to reinterpret her boyfriend's initially
positive trait of ''intense interest" in her as the negative trait of jealousy.
Second, the individual himself or herself initiates the breakup. In this scenario, that person may have wanted to breakup
precisely because he or she became aware of drawbacks to the other person's virtues. In fact, individuals who take
responsibility for a breakup can be especially disillusioned with their partner's appealing traits, implying that these cases
will become prominent in fatal attractions. In one such example, a man broke up with his girlfriend and said that what he
liked least about her was her "lack of maturity." On the other hand, he reported that he was initially drawn to his former
girlfriend because, "She had an innocence about her that was refreshing." This man's negative appraisal of his girlfriend's
trait of innocence appeared to be one reason that he stopped seeing her.
The next section of this chapter addresses these previously unanswered issues in an examination of empirical data. An
analysis of fatal attractions is conducted, using new information from physical and personality attractors taken from the
data set described earlier in this chapter (Felmlee, 1995). This analysis determines whether the factors previously found
to influence fatal personality attractions remain significant in analyses of attractions due to either personality or physical
attributes. In this investigation, the role of an additional factor is also examinedresponsibility for the breakup idea.

Predictors of Fatal Attractions

A Multivariate Analysis
The determinants of fatal attractions are investigated in a multivariate, logistic regression analysis. The unit of analysis is
the attracting quality listed by each respondent, and the dependent variable measures if the
 
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attracting quality is later disliked (i.e., a fatal attraction). The final sample consists of the 1,416 physical and nonphysical
positive partner characteristics listed by the 301 study participants. Logistic regression analysis is usedrather than
ordinary least squaresbecause the dependent variable is a skewed, dichotomous variable (fatal-not fatal). The independent
variables include the following measures, of which the first five are intended to examine various theoretical issues and
the last three are control variables.
Respondent's Breakup Idea. This variable is included in order to examine the effect of initiation of the breakup on the
likelihood of a fatal attraction. Respondents were asked the following open-ended question: "Whose idea was it to end
the relationship?" Answers to this question were placed into five categories: completely partner's (1)e.g., "hers," or "the
other person's," 14.8%, mostly partner's (2)e.g., "mostly hers/his," 4.9%, mutual idea (3)e.g., ''mutual" or "both of ours,"
24.8%, mostly respondent's (4)e.g., "mine, but we agreed," 9%, completely respondent's (5)e.g., "mine," 46.5%.
Extreme Partner Quality. This variable measures the degree to which an attracting quality of a partner was described in
an extreme or intense manner. If an extreme adjective, such as "extremely," "unusually," or "incredible" was used, then
this variable was given a value of 2 (12.6%). If a more moderate adjective was used, such as "very," "really," or "lots,"
then this variable received a value of 1 (10.9%). If no special modifiers were used to describe a partner's positive trait,
then a value of 0 (76.5%) was given to this variable (i.e., not extreme). Two coders (one male and one female) read the
verbatim descriptions of the attracting qualities and determined which of the three categories was appropriate, with an
intercoder reliability of k = .79.
Different Partner Quality. This variable measures whether the attracting quality is in the category of Different. A quality
of a partner is coded as 1 (Different) if the respondent used words such as "different" or "unique" when describing the
characteristics that attracted him or her (1.1%); otherwise, it is coded 0 (98.9%).
Similar Partner Quality. This variable measures whether the attracting quality is in the category of Similar. A quality of
a partner is coded as 1 (Similar) if the respondent used phrases such as "similar interests" or
 
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"common values" in describing the characteristics that attracted her or him (5.2%); otherwise, it is coded 0 (94.8%).
Physical Partner Quality. Attracting qualities that are physical traits or physical characteristics are coded 1 (27.5%);
those that are nonphysical characteristics (i.e., personality traits) are coded 0 (72.5%). Two new coders (one male and
one female) verified the validity of this category, Physical, as well as the validity of the other two categories of qualities,
Different, and Similar, with an overall intercoder reliability of k = .82.
Female Respondent. This variable is coded 1 if the respondent is female (69.9%); it is coded 0 for males (30.1%).
Duration of Relationship. This variable measures the total length of the relationship in months (M = 9.5, SD = 18.9).
Number of Qualities. This variable is the total number of attracting qualities mentioned by the respondent (M = 5.6, SD =
2.3). It is possible that a person's propensity to experience a fatal attraction is directly related to the number of attracting
qualities in a partner that an individual reports. Therefore, this variable is included to control statistically the tendency of
respondents to be at a high risk of a fatal attraction simply because they list numerous positive partner qualities.
Results
Initiating the idea of a relationship breakup is positively and significantly associated with the likelihood of a fatal
attraction, even when controlling for a number of other factors in the multivariate analysis, as shown in Table 1.2.
Respondents who reported that the idea to end the relationship was theirs are approximately 1.8 times more likely than
those who said the idea was the other person's to later dislike a quality that they were initially attracted to (i.e., a fatal
attraction). Thus, those who initiate a breakup are almost twice as likely as those at the recipient end to have a fatal
attraction.1
Another new finding is that physical traits are less likely to be fatal than
1 The antilog coefficient for a one unit change in the variable Respondent's Breakup Idea is 1.15, which means
that a change of one unit in Respondent's Idea multiplies the likelihood of a fatal attraction by 1.15. The antilog
for a four unit change is 1.8; that is, a change from the value 1 (completely partner's idea) to the value 5
(completely respondent's idea) multiplies the rate of a fatal attraction is by 1.8.
 
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TABLE 1.2
The Effects of Predictors of Fatal Attractions in a Logistic Regression Analysis of 1,410
Physical and
Nonphysical Attracting Partner Qualities
Physical and Nonphysical Attracting Partner Qualities.
Independent Variable Beta Standard Error Antilog
Coefficient Coefficient
Respondent's breakup idea .07
.14* 1.15
Extreme partner quality. .10
.71*** 2.03
Different partner quality .55
1.43** 4.17
Similar partner quality .73
-1.60* .20
Physical partner quality .26
-.94*** .39
Female respondent .22
.49* 1.64
Duration of relationship .01
-.01 .99
Number of qualities .04
.01 1.01
Constant .38
-3.14
Model Chi-Square
100.89***
Note. *p < .05, **p < .01, ***p < .001

personality characteristics, as can be seen in the negative, highly significant coefficient for the Physical variable. The size
of the effect is also large. Fatal attractions are close to one-third less probable when the attracting quality in a partner is
physical, rather than nonphysical.
Additional results show that the rate of a fatal attraction increases when individuals use extreme, rather than less extreme,
adjectives to describe a partner's qualities and when respondents view these qualities as "different" or "unique."
However, when the appealing characteristics of a companion are similar to those of the respondent, the likelihood of a
fatal attraction decreases. These effects are all large in magnitude, with the chances of a fatal attraction being four times
more likely when a quality appears to be extreme (as opposed to not extreme) or when it is in the category of Different
rather than another category. However, when a partner's characteristic is Similar, the probability of a fatal attraction is
only one fifth of what it would be otherwise. Therefore, whether a positive partner quality is extreme, different, or
similar, has large effects on fatal attraction propensities.
Finally, although the effect size is not large, females are more likely than males to have fatal attractions, with a ratio of
female to male attractions of this type of 1.64 to 1. In addition, respondents who mention many attracting qualities are
not significantly more prone to fatal attrac-
 
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tions than those listing fewer qualities.2 Finally, regarding length of involvement, short relationships are not significantly
more likely than longer ones to be fatal, although it should be noted that the range of relationship length is relatively
limited in this sample.3 With the possible exception of gender, then, control variables have little effect on the probability
of a fatal attraction in these data.

Discussion
The findings reported in this chapter help to clarify a picture of the phenomenon of fatal attraction. First, illustrations of
individual cases show that there are light and dark sides to these attractions (e.g., nurturing vs. smothering). These results
reinforce the possibility that one's virtues and vices emanate from a common source and that this shadow side to
personality helps explain why fatal attractions might occur. In addition, these light and dark dimensions are reminiscent
of some of the opposing relationship forces discussed by dialectical perspectives. The corresponding positive and
negative qualities of spontaneity and unpredictability, for example, imply that tensions emerge in some fatal attractions
between the dialectic forces of novelty and predictability. The possibility of new, unidentified dialectical tensions, such
as those between relaxation and motivation (e.g., easygoing to lazy) also emerges in these data (Felmlee, in press, b).
A second set of results, based on the statistical analysis of predictors of fatal attractions, confirm the proposed theoretical
arguments. Findings indicate that when individuals are attracted to qualities in another person that are extreme or
different, they are especially prone to fatal attractions (as hypothesized). However, attractions to others because of
similarities
2 In order to control for the possibility of correlated errors within individuals, an analysis was conducted in which
dummy variables were included in the model for each individual in the sample. Due to redundancies among
independent variables, some of the variables in the model had to be dropped (e.g., number of fatal qualities, or
breakup idea). The general substantive conclusions regarding the effects of the remaining variables in the model
(e.g., Similar, Different, Extreme) remained the same as those reported in this chapter.
3 The sample here contains relationships of moderate length at best, when compared with a 20-year marriage.
Perhaps if longer relationships were included in the data, fatal attractions would be confined mostly to relatively
short-lived relationships. On the other hand, if vices and virtues are indeed one and the same, then fatal attractions
could occur in lengthy relationships as well as brief ones. In other words, one could dislike the downside of a
partner's initially appealing virtues even after many years.
 
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are much less likely to be fatal. These results replicate previous findings conducted on a more limited data set consisting
only of personality-based attractions (Felmlee, 1996). According to the analyses reported herein, all types of
attractionsphysical as well as personalityhave an increased chance of being fatal when the appealing physical or
personality characteristics of the particular love object are viewed as being extreme or different.
Extreme partner qualities are particularly prone to disenchantment for a couple of reasons. First, extreme qualities are
inherently more problematic than moderate qualities, as mentioned earlier. Even the trait of honesty, for example, might
lead to blunt and untactful behavior when displayed indiscriminately. In other words, any virtue taken to excess has its
limitations. Second, labeling a partner's quality as extreme means that the individual views it as different from his or her
own qualities. When a woman describes her partner as extremely funny, for instance, she may see herself as being less
humorous than he is. As previously discussed, differences can be intriguing in a partner, but they can also be a source of
dyadic conflict. Finally, extreme partner qualities may signal an imbalance in dialectical relationship tensions. Extreme
openness on the part of a partner, no matter how appealing, may imply that a partnership with that person is lacking in
the opposite dialectical pole of closedness.
Initiation of the Breakup
This statistical analysis also addressed a previously uninvestigated determinant of relationship disillusionment:
responsibility for the breakup idea. Fatal attractions are significantly more likely in cases in which respondents report that
the breakup was their own idea rather than their partner's or a mutual idea. This is an important result because it suggests
that fatal attractions are not simply instances in which scorned lovers recast their ex-partner's appealing characteristics in
an unflattering light (e.g., the Sour Grapes hypothesis). Instead, fatal attractions are much more prevalent when
individuals themselves are the initiators of a breakup.
Note that this does not mean that rejected lovers look favorably on their former partners, but simply that they do not
express their dislike in terms of fatal attractions. For example, one man whose girlfriend went back to her previous
boyfriend complained that she "lie[d], cheat[ed], and tried to deceive me." A woman whose partner broke up with her
described him, in retrospect, as "selfish, temperamental, cynical, and not very sexually satisfying." The qualities that first
attracted these two to their partners (e.g., physical attributes), however, were unrelated to those they disliked.
 
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These negative evaluations of their former companions may be cognitive reinterpretations (i.e., sour grapes), but they are
not reappraisals of originally appealing qualities.
It should also be pointed out that only a minority of respondents report that their partner was responsible for the breakup
(19.9%). Perhaps a larger sample size is needed to find fatal attractions in such instances. Furthermore, if individuals who
are at the receiving end of a breakup reframe past attractions as repulsions, this tendency might not show up for awhile. It
takes time for break-up accounts to formulate and solidify, especially when the ending was unanticipated, and the
timeframe used here was short. A study of accounts over an extended period of time following a breakup would be useful
in determining the stages at which disenchantment emerges and to what extent these stages differ depending on if the
individual was responsible for the relationship demise.
Attractions Based on Physical Attributes
In addition, the multivariate analyses reveal that physical attractions are less likely to be fatal than those based on
personality characteristics. Part of the explanation for this finding is due to the fact that unlike personality characteristics,
positive physical features often lack clear negative interpretations. One respondent, for example, said he was drawn to his
girlfriend because, "She looked great in a bathing suit." In order for this case to be considered a fatal attraction, he had to
interpret this quality negatively and to say that, in retrospect, "she looked too great in a bathing suit." Needless to say, he
said nothing of the sort. Also, note that few words exist to describe an excessive amount of beauty. A person who is too
nice is a wimp, one who is too assertive is pushy, one who is too laidback is lazy, and so forth, but what is someone who
looks too good? A vain person? A beauty queen? There are several possible answers, but none are obvious, and this may
be why fatal attractions are underrepresented in physical attractions. In addition, there were some physical attractions that
were fatal, but these tended to be based on sexualitysomething that has a clear negative cognitive reinterpretation, at least
regarding females (i.e., slut).
This is not to say that attractions based only on the physical attributes of another are unproblematic. It was not
uncommon, for example, for respondents involved in such relationships to complain that, in retrospect, they realized that
their partner was lacking in "intellect" or in "personality." If the definitions used here were broader, these cases would be
considered examples of fatal attractions as well. That is, in a
 
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certain sense the individuals in these romances got what they wanteda beautiful partnerbut nothing more. Thus, the
corresponding dark side to being primarily drawn to the physical characteristics of a companion is that certain personality
attributes in a partner (that are also salient to the individual, but that were ignored in the initial attraction) are absent.
Gender Differences
Another finding is that women are somewhat more likely than men to dislike a partner's quality that they once found
attractive, that is, to have a fatal attraction. Part of the reason for this finding is a byproduct of the data collection process
in that male participants were more apt than their female counterparts to use vague, general terms, such as "looks" and
"personality," to describe the characteristics that attracted them to their partner. Nonspecific partner qualities, such as
''personality," were uniformly coded as nonfatal, and thus, fewer men than women were at risk for being counted as
experiencing a fatal attraction. This lack of precision in men's responses indicates less awareness on their part of the
affection and disaffection processes inherent in their relationships or it means that they spend less time than do females in
analyzing their relationships and in generating detailed breakup accounts.
The Over-Time Process
The findings in this chapter also speak to the over-time process of fatal attractions. Several possible hypotheses were
outlined at the beginning of the chapter, including Time Will Tell (it takes time for a partner's liabilities to surface), Sour
Grapes (a partner is evaluated negatively after a breakup), Rose-Colored Glasses (infatuation produces a positive
assessment of a partner), People Pleasing (people change to please their partner), and Familiarity Breeds Contempt (traits
lose their appeal with time). The findings presented here are used to evaluate these differing hypotheses.
First, if the Time-Will-Tell hypothesis is true, then we expect fatal attractions to be more probable as time progresses in a
relationship and as the weaknesses of a partner begin to surface. Of course, the size of the interval that passes before
imperfections in a loved one becomes evident varies from individual to individual and from characteristic to
characteristic. Some partners are more adept than others at concealing their drawbacks; certain individuals also are
quicker than some to recog-
 
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nize flaws in another, and certain qualities are more quick than others to manifest their duality. Nevertheless, it seems
reasonable to assume that some amount of time is necessary before awareness occurs, and if this is the case, relationship
duration should be associated with fatal attraction propensities in the aggregate. Yet, length of relationship is not
significantly related to the likelihood of a fatal attraction, neither in a linear nor a curvilinear fashion. Short relationships
are about as susceptible to this particular pattern of disillusionment as are medium-length and long relationships. Thus,
these findings fail to provide support for the learning hypothesis (Time Will Tell).
Second, we expect the Sour Grapes hypothesis to be particularly applicable in cases in which someone is the unwilling
victim of a breakup because cognitive dissonance is apt to be especially high when one is rejected by a desired partner.
Nevertheless, fatal attractions were not more prevalent in relationships in which it was the other person's idea to breakup,
according to the analyses reported herein. In fact, they were significantly less likely in these situations and more likely
when individuals reported that the demise of the relationship was their own idea. It remains possible, of course, that some
breakups, identified by the respondent as their idea were actually instigated by a partner and that fatal attractions in such
cases were instances of sour grapes. Barring such misreports, however, these findings in general do not lend support to
the Sour Grapes hypothesis.
If the Rose-Colored Glasses hypothesis is accurate, then we expect fatal attractions to be particularly frequent in cases in
which individuals themselves initiate the ending of a relationship, rather than when they are at the receiving end of a
breakup. Someone who terminates a romantic liason is likely to be uninfatuated and well aware of the downside of a
partner's attractive characteristics, unlike one who is the breakup victim. Fatal attractions are significantly more likely
when an individual reports having initiated the idea for a breakup rather than when the idea was mutual or when it was
the other person's, thus supporting the Rose-Colored Glasses argument.
Other research also generates evidence for this third hypothesis. Experimental investigations reveal that those in a state of
infatuation are able to correctly evaluate a potential partner, but this evaluation is more positive than that of those not
infatuated (Gold, Ryckman, & Mosley, 1984; McClanahan, Gold, Lenney, Ryckman, & Kulberg, 1990). Similarly,
Tennov (1979) found that a large majority of men and women were able to clearly identify the weaknesses of their
partners while in a state of limerence, her term for infatuation. She argued that negative features of a love object are
seen, but ignored, when experiencing limerence.
 
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However, there is little information in this empirical work that can speak to the last two scenarios, People Pleasing and
Familiarity Breeds Contempt. One cannot tell from the cross-sectional data presented here whether the former
companions of these respondents modified their behavior over time, and thus, the People Pleasing argument receives
neither confirmation nor disconfirmation on the basis of these analyses. One also cannot determine whether positive
qualities of a partner lost their reinforcement value over time and therefore became irritating (i.e., Familiarity Breeds
Contempt). Additional research is necessary to directly address these claims.
In sum, of all five possible explanations of the fatal attraction process, the one that receives some empirical support is the
Rose-Colored Glasses argument. Yet, none of these hypothesis can be completely ruled out. Longitudinal studies are
necessary to examine these various hypotheses more rigorously. Information on the positive and negative assessments of
an intimate partner over time, for example, allows a more thorough examination of the question as to whether individuals
are aware of a partner's shadow side from the very beginning and when, and if, they stop ignoring it.

Implications and Conclusion

The findings discussed in this chapter have a number of important theoretical implications. First, they speak to the dark
side of attraction. The process of interpersonal attraction is not always upbeat and straightforward, and people can have
romantic inclinations toward others on the basis of characteristics they will later find repellant. This also suggests that
stage theories of relationship development are irrelevant for some couples who are doomed from the very beginning
because of a fatal partner selection process.
The results reported herein also inform the theoretical debate as to whether opposites attract (e.g., Winch, 1955). There
are cases in which respondents report being attracted to a dissimilar, or different individual, but these instances are less
common than those in which similarity is the basis of appeal. Furthermore, differences are much more apt than
similarities to result in fatal attractions, and the dark side of differences typically reported by individuals in such
attractions is "strange," which implies a lack of mutual understanding among members of a couple. Of course, we do not
know the extent to which opposites may attract in ongoing, developing relationships, and perhaps certain types of
appealing differences, such as those that are complementary, can be compatible for
 
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some couples. Nevertheless, the conclusion derived from the terminated relationships reported here is: Opposites may
initially attract, but they later repel.
Research on relationship dissolution is yet another area for which these results have potential ramifications. Many
accounts of breakups imply that these endings are circumstantial and are out of an individual's control. Yet, fatal
attraction research indicates that for a substantial proportion of couples, individuals play an instigative role in the demise
of their relationship by selecting (as a partner) someone whose strengths they will eventually find annoying. Such cases
suggest that some couples are destined to breakup from the start of their relationship, as implied by the Pre-Existing
Doom model of relationship dissolution (Duck, 1982).
The potential battlegrounds for relationship endings are also evident in these findings. The dark sides of fatal attractions
identified here indicate that common complaints about a matethat are likely to appear in breakup accounts and in couples'
disagreementsinclude, for example, lack of seriousness, domineering ways, or unpredictable and irresponsible behavior.
The puzzle, of course, is that these types of grievances about a partner seem so closely related to the features initially
found pleasing. The ideas discussed in this chapter, therefore, raise the intriguing possibility that such objections and
related dyadic conflict, might have been predicted from the initial stages of the relationship.
Nonetheless, a partner's positive features may emerge as problematic only after some significant change in the situation
facing the couple has occurred. For example, a person's hard-edged evaluativeness and decisiveness may be attractive
early in a relationship, but once this relationship is in a situation of real value conflict (e.g., deciding to live with one's
stepparents after becoming unemployed), it suddenly evokes this characteristic that only now serves to drive a wedge
between the couple. In other words, some characteristics that are initially attractive for all the right reasons may become
fatal when a particular context draws them forth as a basis for dissension.
Note that fatal attractions may not be limited to romantic breakups, but they can also appear in some ongoing, stable
relationships. That is, certain couples may remain together despite the fact that both members, or only one, dislike aspects
of the qualities that caused them to gravitate to each other. Attracting characteristics are still fatal in such cases, but the
overall relationship is not. To the extent such instances occur, a question for future research is as follows: "How do some
couples successfully negotiate an intimate relationship and, at the same
 
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time, remain cognizant of the negative dimensions of each other's attractive features?"
Finally, perhaps another type of contradiction occurs in romantic relationships, one that is in some sense the opposite of a
fatal attraction. In such a situation people may find themselves drawn to qualities in a prospective partner that initially
repelled them (i.e., a nonfatal repulsion). For example, someone's sense of humor could be interpreted as offensive at first
glance, but after repeated exposure it is found to have an element of charm (e.g., see Sally's, Meg Ryan's, reaction to
Harry, Billy Crystal, in the movie When Harry Met Sally). In many instances, an initial negative reaction to a prospective
companion precludes this possibility because future interaction is terminated. Some potential relationships are doomed,
thus, because the individuals never get to entertain the lighter side of the features in question. Yet, if repulsed partners
can get past initial negative reactions, with time they may find that they begin to appreciate the positive dimensions of
each other's faults.4
In conclusion, research on the dark side of interpersonal attraction has just begun to scratch the surface. Fatal attractions
represent just one of the many contradictions or ambiguities inherent in close pairings. More indepth, interview studies of
this and other attraction paradoxes are needed, using broader samples of married as well as nonmarried couples and over
a long timeframe. Nevertheless, the arguments and findings in this chapter presented an initial glimpse into the ways in
which the process of romantic attraction is more dark and contradictory than it may seem. These ways also imply that
there is more than a grain of truth to the notion that what is appealing in a loved one can become appalling in the blink of
an eye.

Acknowledgements
Thanks go to Larry Cohen, Bill Cupach, Scott Gartner, and Brian Spitzberg for their contributions to this chapter.
4 On a more general vein, these ideas suggest that, in line with theories of emotion (Berscheid, 1983), things that
are arousing are often negative in nature (socioevolution has developed us to view interruptions in routine as
potentially threatening), but such arousal can be cognitively switched in valence.
 
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2
The Dark Side of Jealousy and Envy: Desire, Delusion, Desperation, and Destructive Communication
Laura K. Guerrero
Arizona State University
Peter A. Andersen
San Diego State University
"Where there's no emotion, there's no motive for violence."
Spock to Kirk on an episode of Star Trekas (Wincelberg, 1966)
A New York Times headline screams: "Texas Executes Man who Killed his Ex-Girlfriend out of Jealousy" (August 15,
1995). For months, television news covered the O.J. Simpson trial, with all its implications for jealousy and domestic
violence. Television docudramas have been made about a teenager (Amy Fischer) who maims her alleged lover's wife, a
high school student who stabs and kills a popular girl that she idolizes (in A Friend to Die For), and a high society La
Jolla, CA, wife (Betty Broderick) who kills her husband and his secretary/lover. Movies such as Fatal Attraction, which
portrays a jealous, obsessive ex-lover's acts of violence, and The Lion King, which features Scar's envy of his brother,
King Mufasa, and his nephew, Simba, earn millions of box office dollars. Indeed, if Spock had lived on
 
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earth in the 20th century, the media accounts of emotion-laden crimes would have provided ample anecdotal evidence for
the validity of his statement on the human condition. Moreover, Spock would likely have concluded that jealousy, and to
a lesser extent, its sister construct, envy, are prime elicitors of violence.
Fortunately, emotions such as jealousy and envy do not always cumulate in violence, and they do not always have
negative consequences for individuals and relationships. In fact, these emotions sometimes have positive effects. Jealousy
can show love and affection. It can also help a person realize the extent to which he or she cares about another. As
Salovey and Rodin (1985) stated, "jealousy can be a reasonable and healthy emotion. Sometimes the irrational feelings
of jealousy can be taken as signs of caring and devotion, rather than as possessiveness and insecurity" (p. 29). Pines
(1992) argued that jealousy can lead people to re-examine their relationships, to stop taking their partners for granted, to
feel more passionate toward their partners, and to become more committed to their relationships. In addition, Pines noted
that jealousy can function as a sign of commitment, an emotion intensifier, and a relationship protection device.
Like jealousy, envy has positive consequences, such as when it leads to self-improvement and accomplishment. Parrott
(1991) distinguished between malicious and nonmalicious jealousy. He noted that Aristotle made a similar distinction
between envy that motivates "people to take good things away from others" and envy that motivates "people to improve
themselves" (p. 9). As Smith (1991) argued, "Understanding why some individuals can use unflattering social
comparisons as a basis for more constructive, emulative impulses, whereas other[s] seem overcome by destructive,
hateful feelings, is an important social-psychological problem" (p. 96).
Despite potential benefits of jealousy and envy, in most situations, these emotions have negative consequences for
individuals and their relationships. Jealous or envious individuals typically feel negative emotions, such as fear and/or
anger, and worry about the state of their relationships or accomplishments. In more rare cases, physical violence occurs.
White and Mullen (1989) summarized the potential negative consequences of romantic jealousy: "Jealousy involves the
outrage of an act of infidelity, of disloyalty; it threatens loss of the central relationship; it involves humiliation; it raises
an intensely ambivalent eroticism; it escalates interpersonal conflict within the relationship; and it is accompanied by
uncertainty, frustration, and helplessness" (p. 233).
In this chapter, we concentrate on the dark side of jealousy and envy by focusing on the negative impact that the
experience and expression of these emotions can have on individuals and relationships. The chapter begins by
 
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distinguishing jealousy from envy and placing these two emotions in a historical and social context. Then we focus on
some of the darker consequences of jealousy and envy. These include intrapersonal reactions, such as feeling anger, fear,
or sadness; evaluating oneself as inferior to others; and experiencing lowered self-esteem, as well as interpersonal
outcomes, such as loss of trust, competitiveness, aggressive communication, and violence. We also briefly discuss how
communication is used to cope more effectively with jealousy and envy.

Distinctions Between Jealousy and Envy

Although jealousy and envy are generally considered to be related, they are distinctly different constructs. Research
shows that people tend to view jealousy as the broader construct (see Smith, Kim, & Parrott, 1988) and readily use it to
describe feelings that are truly jealous (e.g., feeling hurt that your current dating partner talks on the phone a lot with his
ex-girlfriend or boyfriend) as well as those that are envious (e.g., feeling upset because someone at work always upstages
you). People who feel jealous tend to experience a variety of emotions, including envy. In fact, Pines and Aronson
(1983) asked people to rate how jealous they would feel in situations involving 9 potential rivals (e.g., a family member,
someone they knew and found similar to them, or someone they disliked and knew little about). They found that people
reported the most intense jealousy when the rival was someone they knew and envied.
Research also suggests that jealousy is a more prototypic emotion than is envy (Shaver, Schwartz, Kirson, & O'Connor,
1987). The words jealousy and zeal share a common etymology, suggesting that fervor and intensity are part of jealous
emotion. Jealousy almost always involves emotional experiences such as anger, fear, and sadness. In contrast, envy is
less passionate and more cognitive, such as when a person wishes he or he was as attractive as someone else, but does
not feel resentment toward the beautiful person or sadness about one's own shortcomings. Given that jealousy is the
broader term, it is not surprising that social scientists have focused more attention on jealousy than envy, especially in the
last few decades (Parrott, 1991).
There are several other important distinctions between the sister constructs of jealousy and envy. The two emotions differ
in terms of who possesses the desired person or trait, what other emotions and perceptions accompany them, and how
society views their experience and expression.
 
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Possession of the Desired Person or Trait
The concept of relationship possession helps distinguish jealousy and envy (Bryson, 1977; Salovey & Rodin, 1989).
Generally, jealousy occurs when people feel they are in danger of losing a valued relationship that they already possess.
In the case of romantic jealousy, lovers fear losing the love and/or exclusivity they share with their partners. Yet,
jealousy is not limited to romantic relationships. Jealousy can occur between friends, coworkers, or family members
(Parrott, 1991). Consider the following examples:
Sarah and Teresa are best friends. They usually spend part of their weekend together going to the movies, to
nightclubs, or just talking. Then Teresa meets Ron, falls head over heals in love with him, and starts spending
more time with him and less time with Sarah, who fears that she is losing her relationship with Teresa.
Steve is an associate producer at a large television station. He enjoys his work and is extremely proud of his
position, especially because he is highly regarded by the executive producer who gives him full autonomy to make
programming decisions. Then Rita comes along and impresses the executive producer with her programming
expertise.
Bob and Samantha have been married for 5 years when they have their first child. With the birth of their son, Bob
begins to feel neglected because Samantha is so busy caring for their new son. It seems to him that all of
Samantha's affections are now directed at the newborn.
All of these examples represent ordinary, potential jealousy situations. In each case, Sarah, Steve, and Bob are likely to
feel threatened; something they valuewhether it be the time they spend with their friend, the work they enjoy doing, or
the attention they receive from their spouseis in jeopardy of being taken away or changed. Notice that in each of these
cases, the potentially jealous person perceives that he or she possesses a valued relationship, but is in danger of losing it
or at least of having it altered in an undesirable manner. Thus, jealousy involves a threat to a desired, pre-existing
relational state.
Envy, in contrast, occurs when a person does not possess a valued commodity, but wishes to possess it. The commodity
could be a relationship with someone, a material possession, a position of power or status, or a personal characteristic
such as intelligence, humor, or beauty. Parrott (1991) conceptualized envy as occurring ''when a person lacks what
another has and either desires it or wishes the other did not have it" (p. 4). Envy is strongest when it leads to a negative
comparison between
 
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oneself and others in an area highly relevant to one's self-concept (Salovey & Rodin, 1989; Salovey & Rothman, 1991).
Because envy is derived from the Latin inuidre, which translates as "to see intensively," envy always involves comparing
one's own situation to that of a scrutinized other.
In many situations, our self-comparisons to others are negative, but we do not feel envy. For example, when we watch
the Olympic games we admire the speed of the sprinters and the grace of the gymnasts, but we do not necessarily envy
them. This is especially true if the skills they possess are not in an area that is personally relevant to us. In other words,
most of us do not expect to be able to compete with world-class athletes, and we do not long to do so. Instead, we expect
to enjoy their performances, to feel happiness at their successes, and disappointment at their defeats. If envy is felt, it is
likely to be of the admiring or nonmalicious variety. In contrast, if you were a moderately successful professional golfer
in your late 40s, you might be quite envious of younger players, such as Tiger Woods, who have already achieved high
levels of success and international recognition. In this case, a comparison is likely to be drawn in a highly relevant area
of self-identity.
The following examples further illustrate scenarios that are likely to produce negative self-to-other comparisons and
envious feelings:
Jim studies hard for all his classes. It is important for him to do well because he hopes to get into medical school.
His roommate, Mark, however, rarely studies and gets better grades than he does.
Christie is in love with Ryan, yet Ryan does not even notice her. He is too infatuated with Victoria, a beautiful,
outgoing woman whom he recently started dating.
Randy works extremely hard to keep a roof over his family and to provide them with life's necessities. He feels
resentment toward John, who inherited money from his wealthy family and only has to work part-time.
Notice that in all these cases someone else possesses the commodity (whether it be intelligence, affection from a loved
one, or a life of wealth and leisure) that the envious person wishes to possess. Such situations call forth an implicit
negative comparison between the envious person and the rival.
Notice also that only two relations are necessary for envy to occur: An envious person who desires something and a rival
who possesses the desired commodity. In the case of jealousy, however, there is always a "triangle of relations" (Parrott,
1991, p. 16; see also Farrell, 1980). This is not to say that envy cannot co-occur with jealousy within a triangle of
relationships. Indeed, the previous example of Christie, Ryan, and Victoria illustrates that envy can occur within love
triangles. In this case, however, Christie
 
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does not possess Ryan's affections and she is likely to envy Victoria's ability to attract him to her. In other words,
Christie wishes she could trade places with Victoriaa common wish when one is envious. Similarly, people are likely to
feel envious if their romantic partner mentions how good looking someone is, although there is no possibility for the
partner to become involved with the third party. For instance, a wife may comment that a movie star is gorgeous. Her
husband knows that she will almost certainly never meet the handsome actor, so he has no reason to fear losing the
relationship to him. He is likely, however, to envy the actor's good looks. Thus, although jealousy and envy are separate
phenomena, they can co-occur.
Related Emotions and Perceptions
Research demonstrates that jealousy and envy are qualitatively different emotional experiences. Most definitions of
jealousy center on feelings of fear that result from threat. For example, White and Mullen (1989) conceptualized
romantic jealousy as "A complex of thoughts, emotions, and actions that follows loss of or threat to self-esteem and/or
the existence or quality of the romantic relationship" due to the actual or potential interference of a rival (p. 9). In
contrast, most definitions of envy focus on feelings of longing and resentment. Smith, Parrott, and Diener (1990), for
instance, demonstrated that feelings of inferiority and resentment are at the heart of the envious experience. Parrott
(1991) argued that envy is typically composed of feelings of longing, inferiority, resentment, guilt, and admiration. Berke
(1988) stated that "envy is a state of exquisite tension, torment, and ill will provoked by an overwhelming sense of
inferiority, impotence, and worthlessness" (p. 19).
Two studies shed further light on these distinctions. Smith et al. (1988) examined people's everyday conceptions of both
jealousy and envy. Their research illustrated that people associated jealousy with suspiciousness, rejection, hostility, fear
of loss, and hurt. These jealous feelings and reactions involve a triangle of relations. The jealous person may be
suspicious that a rival relationship exists, feel rejected in favor of the rival, and fear losing the partner to the rival. In
contrast, Smith et al. found envy to associate more strongly with feelings of inferiority, dissatisfaction, self-criticism, and
motivation to improve. Only a dyadic comparison is necessary for these reactions to occur.
Parrott and Smith (1993) further demonstrated the qualitative distinctions between jealousy and envy. In this study, self-
reported responses (to recalled and hypothetical situations) were adjusted for intensity level because jealousy is typically
experienced as a stronger emotion than is envy.
 
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When intensity level was controlled, several substantial differences between jealousy and envy emerged. Jealousy was
distinguished from envy by higher scores in four areas: (a) distrust, including feeling betrayed, rejected, and suspicious;
(b) fear, including feeling worried, anxious, and threatened; (c) uncertainly, including feeling confused about the state of
the relationship; and (d) loneliness, including feeling left out and abandoned. Four reactions also differentiated envy from
jealousy. Specifically, envious individuals experienced more: (a) disapproval of their own feelings; (b) longing for what
another person possesses; (c) motivation to improve oneself; and (d) degradation, which included feeling humiliated and
inferior. Insecurity appears to be related to both jealousy and envy. However, the insecurity stemming from jealousy is
more strongly focused on uncertainty about the status of one's relationship or position, whereas insecurity associated with
envy centers more squarely on one's perceived inferiority to others.
Jealousy and envy may not only produce different emotional reactions and perceptions, but they may also originate in
different emotions. Ciabattari (1988) proposed the interesting hypothesis that jealousy and envy originate in love and
hate, respectively. According to this view, jealousy (though it may ultimately lead to hate) can only exist when a person
loves someone and wants to protect the relationship. In contrast, envy stems from resenting or hating someone for having
something you do not possess. If this is true, then the functions that jealousy and envy serve are very different. On the
positive side, jealous individuals should strive to protect and maintain their relationships, whereas envious individuals
should strive to improve themselves so they are competitive with the rival. On the negative side, jealous individuals may
become overly possessive and demanding, whereas envious individuals may strike out against those people who make
them feel inferior. Ciabattari's predictions, however, await scientific testing.
Historical Context and Social Significance
Jealousy and envy have different societal meanings, partially because of the historical contexts surrounding them as their
meanings evolved. In the following section, we show that both jealousy and envy have social significance and can lead
to aggression and violence. We also show that although jealousy and envy are both frequently condemned in our society,
envy is generally seen as the more evil culprit, despite being felt with less intensity and leading less often to grave
consequences. As Parrott (1991) stated:
 
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"The hostility that accompanies envy is not socially sanctioned, whereas that accompanying jealousy often is" (p. 79).
The Paradoxical Societal View of Jealousy. Jealousy and its paradoxes have intrigued writers for centuries, as plays such
as Shakespeare's Othello, operas such as Bizet's Carmen, and novels such as Zola's The Beast in Man attest. These
historic works, along with the media reports on violence resulting from jealousy, send our society a message that
jealousy is a highly dangerous and uncontrollable emotion. Jealousy itself is personified as a "green-eyed monster." The
perception that jealousy is an uncontrollable emotion is so powerful that in American courts people who kill their spouses
out of jealousy can sometimes claim temporary insanity. In other cases, individuals who kill someone in the heat of
jealous passion are convicted of manslaughter rather than second-degree murder (Delgado & Bond, 1993). Salovey and
Rodin (1989) noted that the legal definition of manslaughter is as "any intentional killing committed under the influence
of extreme mental or emotional disturbance for which there is a reasonable explanation or excuse" (pp. 239-240). Such is
one paradox of jealousy: Jealousy-induced violence is reprehensible, but sometimes perceived as justifiable.
Jealousy has always been a two-edged swordan expression of love on the one hand, of perceived paranoia on the other;
positively valued in some relationships, but distressing in others. In The Immortals, Korda's (1992) fictional account
about John Kennedy's (JFK) alleged affair with Marilyn Monroe, both JFK and Marilyn are portrayed as dealing with the
jealousy and suspicion of their respective spouses, Jackie Kennedy and Joe Dimaggio. In one scene, JFK acts jealous
when Marilyn mentions other men:
"You're jealous!" She cried.
"The hell I am."
"You are . . . Oh, sweetheart, don't worry. I like a man to be jealous."
"You do? What about Joe? You're always complaining about the fact that he's jealous."
"Oh honey, he's my husband! A jealous husband is no fun at all. A jealous lover is a whole different story." (p.
65)
Like Marilyn, many people have ambivalent attitudes stemming from a paradox between autonomy and commitment (see
Baxter, 1988). Jealousy in a committed relationship may be perceived as an unjustified and unnecessary constraint on
individual autonomy. Jealousy in an uncommitted relationship may symbolize love and connection.
Societal attitudes about jealousy have been characterized by paradox, ambivalence, and dynamism. Clanton (1989)
conducted an intriguing analysis of all magazine articles on jealousy indexed in The Reader's Guide
 
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to Periodical Literature from 1945 to 1985. He found two very different trends. From 1945 to 1965, jealousy was treated
as "proof of love." As Clanton summarized, "virtually all of the articles in popular magazines said that a certain amount
of jealousy was natural, proof of love, and good for marriage" (p. 182). Readers were cautioned, however, to avoid
irrational displays of emotion. Women, in particular, were told to curb their own emotional expressions of jealousy but to
interpret their husband's expression of jealousy as a sign of love and affection. This view is consistent with the idea that
jealousy serves as a device to help people retain their mates and protect the relationship (see Buss, 1988). As Delgado
and Bond(1993) claimed, "historically jealousy has been positively valued'' (p. 1337).
From 1970 to 1980, jealousy was depicted in the popular press as a "personality defect" (Clanton, 1989). At this time,
people began feeling guilty about being jealous. Jealousy was viewed as evidence that a person was distrustful,
suspicious, and/or insecure, as well as unable to properly manage emotion (Stearns, 1989). Moreover, some articles
"suggested that jealousy was becoming outdated as society moved into an era of `liberated' relationships between men
and women" (Clanton, 1989, p. 183). Within such a liberated society, jealousy was seen as abnormal, paranoid, and
irrational and as having only negative effects on relationships. Stearns (1989) summarized the sentiments of this era by
stating, "Though a few magazine articles found tiny windows of merit in jealousy, as against the unadulterated blasts,
they were at best silver specks in a very dark cloud" (p. 121).
So where are we today? Contemporary attitudes remain ambivalent and paradoxical. We are repulsed and fascinated by
jealousy. Jealousy is a more frequent topic of magazine articles today than ever before. Moreover, the 1990s explosion of
television talk shows and docudramas revolving around jealousy has increased public awareness of this sometimes
destructive emotion. Jealousy is still portrayed as a personality defect on many of these shows, possibly because this
depiction highlights the dramatic, negative consequences of jealousy and makes a better story. Yet, in the 1990s age of
AIDS awareness, monogamy is valued more than it was in the 1970s and 1980s (Brehm, 1992). The renewed emphasis
on affectionate, committed relationships and safe sex suggests that jealousy is justified in many situations. Indeed, unsafe
sex during an extradyadic affair can affect both the emotional and physical well-being of all three members of the
romantic triangle.
Taken together, a sociological and historical perspective on jealousy suggests that paradox is operating. Jealousy is seen
as a stronger, more potentially violent emotion than is envy, it is often seen as a personality defect, and yet there are still
times when it is socially sanctioned. Aune
 
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and Comstock (1996; Comstock & Aune, 1995), for example, found that romantic partners saw jealousy experience and
expression as unpleasant, but fairly acceptable in their relationships. Similarly, Fitness and Fletcher (1993) reported that
most people generally "understand and forgive each other's occasional insecurity and jealousy, despite the widespread
belief that jealousy is a destructive, unacceptable emotion in close relationships" (p. 957).
Jealousy is also paradoxical in that it creates a dilemma. As Stearns (1989) contended, people may "scorn jealousy,
regarding it as an emotion at once juvenile and outdated," yet they may still feel "susceptible and even on occasion
justify their [jealous] feeling" (p. 129). The experience and expression of jealousy by relational partners is quite natural.
One of the reasons people tolerate jealous partners is that they have experienced jealous thoughts and feelings
themselves. Indeed, jealousy of all types, particularly emotional and behavioral jealousy, is correlated within dyads,
indicating that jealous people are attracted to one another or that jealousy is reciprocated by one's relational partner
(Guerrero, Eloy, Jorgensen, & Andersen, 1993).
Perhaps unjustifiably, jealous individuals need reassurance and understanding from their partners rather than judgment.
However, when jealousy becomes violent and/or obsessive, most people find it unacceptable. Indeed, Delgado and Bond
(1993) found that most people do not view jealousy as a better justification for homicide than financial issues. Yet, our
court system, as well as our conventional wisdom, provides some level of social acceptance and personal sympathy for
the jealous lover who engages in destructive, seemingly uncontrollable behavior. Delgado and Bond labeled jealousy as
the "oldest excuse for wrong doing" (p. 1338). White and Mullen (1989) noted that, "The so-called `crime of passion' has
always aroused both fascination and considerable sympathy for the offender" (p. 231). Whether it is a friend telling
another friend, ''I understand why you hit her; she really hurt you badly when she slept with him" or a jury acquitting an
individual who injured another because she was "temporarily insane with jealousy," our society sends a dual message:
Highly jealous individuals are insecure and volatile, but we should understand and sympathize with their pain. Such a
message has dangerous implications for our personal relationships because we expect others to forgive our aggressive
actions when we are jealous.
The Paradoxical Societal View of Envy. Like jealousy, envy has fascinated writers for centuries. Aristotle (1886) stated:
 
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Envy (is) defined as a species of pain felt at conspicuous prosperity on the part of persons like ourselves . . . not
with any view to our personal advantage but solely because they are prosperous. As regards the occasions of
envy, the goods which provoke it have already been stated; for all achievements or possessions of which we covet
the reputation or are ambitious, all things which arouse in us a longing for reputation, as well as all the various
gifts of fortune are practically without exception natural objects of envy. (pp. 158-159)
In Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, envy permeates Roman politics. In the Bible, the book of Genesis contains several
accounts of envy. For example, one passage describes how Jacob made one of his son's, Joseph, a long tunic. Joseph's
brothers see the tunic, realize that their father loves Joseph best, and "hate him so much that they would not even greet
him." (Gen. 37: 3, New American Bible). Later, the brothers' envious hatred leads them to sell Joseph to Midianite
traders, who take him to Egypt to be sold as a slave.
The Bible also provides a foundation for the contemporary view of envy as morally wrong. Specifically, the 10th
commandment dictates that a person shall not covet someone else's spouse or property. Envy is also considered one of
the seven deadly sins. Parrott (1991) reported that envious individuals, as opposed to jealous individuals, are more likely
to feel shame, embarrassment, guilt, "sinfulness," and worry about disapproval (see also Parrott & Smith, 1993). This
modern day evidence suggests that envy is still viewed as a socially condemned, morally reprehensible emotion. This is
at least partially due to the perception that envy stems from a deficit within oneself, whereas jealousy can stem from
one's righteous indignation over another's indiscretions.
In individualistic, capitalistic countries like the United States or Great Britain, envy is particularly likely to flourish.
Individualism naturally leads people to compare themselves to others. As Salovey and Rodin (1989) stated, "In a
competitive culture, individualistic concerns for material possessions, status, and affection are often manifested as envy"
(p. 241). Scholars (e.g., Burke, Genn-Bash, & Haines, 1988; Tracy, 1991) also argued that competitiveness is an integral
part of North America's economy, politics, and social policies. Furthermore, capitalism allows people from widely
different social stations to interact within the same society, making comparisons inevitable. Competition and envy then
become mechanisms by which to better oneself and to try to move up the "social ladder" (Tracy, 1991). Indeed, during
the 1980s era of the me generation, Ciabattari (1988) asked: "Will the `90s be the age of envy?" (p. 47)
The U.S. Declaration of Independence declares that all people are created equal, yet we know from experience that this is
not the case. People
 
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inherit, acquire, and possess unique combinations of traits and talents. As Parrott (1991) stated:
It is a fact of life that people are unequal. Certainly some inequalities stem from injustice, but even in a just world
some people would be born with more beauty than others, some would receive more of a given talent than others,
some would fairly come to acquire more possessions than others, and so forth. It is difficult to imagine that these
differences among peers could be made not to matter. When one contemplates how common the situations
promoting envy are, one appreciates envy's potential ubiquity and influence. (p. 8)
In most societies, laws and policies are erected to protect people from envy and to try to maintain some level of equality
(see Schoeck, 1969). Of course, whether these laws and policies are fair depends on your perspective. Affirmative action
is a case in point. Proponents of affirmative action claim that such a policy is necessary to ensure a fair system of equal
access for all Americans, for without affirmative action, under-represented groups would not be operating on a level
playing field. Opponents of affirmative action contend that the policy is unjust because it gives some unqualified
applicants an unfair advantage and causes reverse discrimination. Clearly, the issue at stake is how to provide people with
equal, yet fair opportunity.
In interpersonal relationships, envy is often seen as selfish and petty. Our friends and loved ones expect us to be happy
for them when they accomplish something. If we are envious, our negative emotion violates their expectations. Instead of
being able to validate their happiness by sharing it with us, envy disconfirms their accomplishment and dampens their
mood. Interestingly, envy and pride (two of the seven deadly sins) are probably associated with one another in some
cases. Salovey-and Rothman (1991) noted that often people have a hard time accepting compliments and become
embarrassed when they receive excessive praise. Demure acceptance of compliments and embarrassed responses to
praise may function to decrease the likelihood of envy. As noted previously, some scholars differentiated between
malicious and admiring envy. A boastful individual is more likely to elicit malicious envy and hostility, whereas a
modest individual is more likely to elicit admiring envy and liking.
Taken together, this evidence suggests that most people regard envy as a socially inappropriate emotion. Yet, modern
society is likely to foster comparisons between people, making envy unavoidable. As with jealousy, envy can lead to
violence, hostility, and political intrigue (Schoeck, 1969). Like jealousy, envy also presents people with a paradoxical
situation: In many societies, people strive to be praiseworthy and to be compared
 
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favorably with their peers, yet when people appear too praiseworthy, they are likely to engender envy from others and to
be resented and disliked.
Summary
Although jealousy and envy can be distinguished by who possesses the desired commodity, what the predominant
accompanying emotions and perceptions are, and how society views them, they both have a similar quality at their core:
Both revolve around desire. With jealousy, the desire focuses on preserving an existing relationship in the face of threats.
With envy, the desire focuses on wanting something one does not have. In both cases, negative consequences can result.

The Dark Side of Jealousy and Envy

Jealousy and envy can result in numerous negative consequences for individuals and their relationships, notwithstanding
the positive consequences mentioned earlier. In this section, we examine some of the most common negative
consequences. These include the experience of a cluster of negative emotions and accompanying negative self-
perceptions, negative relational outcomes, and destructive communicative behavior.
Intrapersonal Consequences: Negative Emotional Reactions and Self-Perceptions
Jealousy and envy are usually considered to be blended emotions because they are comprised of a number of distinct
emotional experiences, such as anger and sadness. When these emotions are highly intense and negative, they may entrap
jealous or envious individuals by making them increasingly fearful, suspicious, and insecure. Bryson (1991) discussed
one common response to jealousyemotional devastation, which includes feeling helpless, insecure, confused, inadequate,
fearful, anxious, depressed, and exploited. Those experiencing emotional devastation report being unable to cope with
other aspects of their lives and crying when they are alone. Thus, jealous emotional devastation encompasses the
cognitive, emotional, and behavioral reactions that associate with "the serious negative emotional consequences of
jealousy" (p. 180). When jealous individuals are so emotionally devastated that they doubt themselves and are unable to
cope
 
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with other aspects of their lives, they are likely to dwell on their jealousy and to remain uncertain, suspicious, and
irrational.
Envy can also be associated with emotional devastation, especially when envious individuals dwell on their shortcomings
and their unfulfilled desires. Parrott's (1991) work shows that at least five different kinds of emotion may be a part of
what we are terming envious emotional devastation: (a) frustrated desire; (b) sadness and distress over feelings of
inferiority; (c) agent-focused resentment, which involves feeling anger and hatred toward "superior" others; (d) global
resentment, which involves feeling a general resentment toward the injustice of circumstances or fate; and (e) guilt over
wishing rivals ill will.
Blame is also an essential characteristic of envious emotional devastation, with the most emotionally devastated people
blaming everyone, including themselves, for their problems. Statements such as "Nothing ever goes my way," "I can't do
anything right," and "Everyone seems out to get me" are symptoms of envy proneness. Furthermore, both agent-focused
and global resentment add to the perception that the envious person cannot achieve success in comparison to others. After
all, if an envious person believes that others are naturally superior, that fate and circumstances are unjust, and that they
just fail to measure up to other people, they are likely to see attempts at improving themselves as pointless. For these
individuals, it is easier to give up and harbor resentment toward more fortunate others than to face more rejection and
more negative self-to-other comparisons by trying to improve oneself.
Emotions associated with jealousy and envy are summarized in Table 2.1. Because the majority of these emotions are
negatively valenced, the experience of jealousy and envy can be emotionally devastating. Although passion, love, pride,
and appreciation are positive emotions that can accompany jealousy and admiration and liking can accompany envy, the
emotions most central to both jealousy and envy are fear, anger, and sadness.
Fear. Both jealousy and envy are typically associated with feelings of fear, but the type of fear that accompanies these
emotions is different. Jealous fear, which is more common than envious fear, stems from two interrelated sourcesfear of
abandonment and relational loss (White & Mullen, 1989) and uncertainty about the state of the relationship (Bringle,
1991). Envious fear, on the other hand, stems from fear of failure and/or rejection, and anxiety over "the prospect of
undesirable future outcomes, and uncertainty about one's self" (Parrott, 1991, p. 13).
Fear emanates from humans' self-protection needs. The potential loss of a mate deprives an individual of biological
resources (i.e., the ability to reproduce offspring), relational resources (i.e., a loving, nurturing compan-
 
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TABLE 2.1
Emotional Reactions Most Commonly Associated With Jealousy and Envy
JEALOUSY ENVY
1. Anger, rage, or hatred toward partner or 1. Anger, hatred, or resentment towards
rival (A, AS1, B2, KR, P1, P2, S2, SSK, the rival (BS, CBL, P2, S1).
TM, WM)
2. Fear, anxiety, or panic over possible 2. Distress and anxiety stemming from
abandonment or relationship change (A, one's feelings of inferiority (CBL, P2,
ASI, B2, CS, P1, P3, SSK, TM, WM) S1,SKP, SR2).
3. Sadness or grief over actual or potential 3. Sadness, discontent, and hopelessness
relationship loss (WM) stemmin from one's own shortcomings
(BS, CBL, P2, S1, SKP, SR1, SR2).
4. Hurt over being betrayed (B1, B3, SKP)
4. Guilt over harboring ill will toward
others (BS, P2, PS, SR1)
5. Envy of the rival's relationship with the 5. Despair that you will never posses the
partner and/or the rival's positive valued commodity that the rival possesses.
characteristics (CS, WM).
6. Longing and/or frustrated desire (BS, P2)
6. Heightened sexual arousal or passion
(B2, PA, WFR, WM)
7. Admiration and liking for the rival (P2).
7. Positive affect, including love,
appreciation, and pride toward the partner
(A, B1, GA).
Note: A = Arnold (1960); ASI = Ausubel, Sullivan & Ives (1980); B1 = Baumgart,
1990; B2 = Bohm (1961; B3 = Bryson (1991); BS = Bers & Rodin (1984); CBL =
Campos, Barrett, Lamb, Goldsmith, & Stenberg (1983); CS = Clanton & Smith (1977);
GA = Guerrero & Andersen (in press); KR = Klein & Riviere (1964); P1 = Panskeep
(1982); P2 = Parrott (1991); P3 = Plutchik (1980); PS = Parrott & Smith (1993); PA =
Pines & Aronson (1983); S1 = Smith (1991); S2 = Solomon (1976); SSK = Shaver,
Schwartz, Kirson, & O'Connor (1987); SKP = Smith, Kim, & Parrott (1988); SR1 =
Salovey & Rodin (1984); SR2 = Salovey & Rothman (1991); TM = Teismann &
Mosher (1978); WFR = White, Fishbein, & Rutstein (1981); WM = White & Mullen
(1989).

ion), and personal resources (i.e., less self-esteem or social status). Fear is typically communicated both verbally (Rimé,
Mesquita, Philippot, & Boca, 1991) and nonverbally (Ekman, Friesen, & Ellsworth, 1972), probably to elicit comforting
or sympathy. In the case of jealousy-induced fear, its experience and subsequent expression may elicit sympathy and
relational repair, particularly if it accompanies integrative communication (Andersen, Eloy, Guerrero, & Spitzberg, 1995).
Of course, fear is often based on unrealistic or imagined threats that become phobic responses. White and Mullen (1989)
provided recommendations for the treatment of infidelity delusions, a major and dark source of jealousy reactions. Their
reviews of treatments include antipsychotic medication, electroconvulsive therapy, psychoanalytic approaches, and
cognitive-behavior therapies. Of course, different remedies are necessary for treatment of jealousy stemming from actual
jealousy, as opposed to delusional jealousy.
A prototype perspective also helps explain why jealousy and envy are associated with fear. Sharpsteen (1991) argued that
many of the events
 
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that are seen as prototypical antecedents of fear are also likely to produce jealousy and envy. For example, Shaver et al.
(1987) reported that the threat of social rejection, the possibility of loss or failure, and loss of control or competence are
all situations that generally elicit fear. Perceived threats to self-esteem are at the heart of experiences of both jealousy and
envy. Perceived threats to the relationship uniquely accompany the experience of jealousy. Thus, generalized threats
produce fearful reactions, with more specialized forms of threats (i.e., those that focus on threatening one's relationship or
one's self-esteem) producing not only fear, but also jealousy or envy.
Anger. Anger is such a powerful part of the jealousy experience that Bryson (1991) included it as a factor separate from
emotional devastation. Jealous anger includes feeling angry at the partner and rival, feeling betrayed and disappointed in
the partner, and feeling a need to get revenge.
Jealousy-related anger is highly associated with feelings of betrayal. For example, when romantic relationships end,
people are particularly likely to be angry when they are replaced by a rival. Mathes, Adams, and Davies (1985) examined
emotional reactions to four possible scenarioslosing a romantic relationship because of fate, destiny, rejection, or the
inference of a romantic relationship. Anger was relatively high for both the rejection and interference situations, but
particularly high for the latter. A cross-cultural study conducted by Bryson (1991) suggests that individuals who feel
betrayed also tend to doubt their partners, feel angry toward their partners, give their partners the cold shoulder, end the
relationship, or spy on their partners.
Research also indicates that jealous individuals are more likely to be angry at the partner than the rival (Mathes &
Verstraete, 1993; Mullen & Maack, 1985; Paul, Foss, & Galloway, 1993), especially when the anger is intensely hostile
or violent (White & Mullen, 1989). Daly and Wilson (1983), for example, found that jealous individuals are more likely
to direct anger and violence toward spouses than rivals. Paul et al. (1993) explained that the partner is the more likely
target of anger and aggression for at least four reasons:
1. The jealous individual typically has greater access to the partner.
2. It is the partner, not the rival, who is perceived as breaking a commitment and engaging in an act of betrayal.
3. The rival may not know the extent to which the partner is already committed, and, thus, the rival may be
unknowingly engaging in a hurtful act.
4. It may be difficult for the jealous person to blame the rival for being attracted to the partner when he or she
feels the same attraction.
Nonetheless, anger toward the rival appears to be likely if the rival is a close friend of the jealous person. Parker (1994)
suggested that when the
 
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rival is someone who is not well-known to the jealous person, stress is generally confined to the romantic relationship.
When the rival is a friend of the jealous person, stress pervades the entire social network. Indeed, Parker found that if the
rival was a close friend, jealous individuals were unlikely to seek support from their social networks, perhaps because
they felt betrayed and humiliated. As Parker summarized, feelings of betrayal and anger are likely "magnified when a
close friend becomes a rival in a romantic relationship" (p. 26).
Taken together, these findings suggest that jealous individuals are most likely to experience anger when they feel
betrayed by close relational partners. When the rival is unknown to them, anger is most likely directed at the partner.
When the rival is a friend, anger is likely to be directed at both the partner and the rival and perhaps at the social
network in general. Of course, some jealous individuals are also angry at themselves for acting in a way that they
perceive pushed the partner away.
When envious individuals experience anger, it is usually rooted in resentment, hatred, and frustration rather than in
betrayal. As Parrott and Smith (1993) noted, jealousy and envy can both produce hostility, but the type of hostility they
produce is different: Jealous individuals tend to feel "anger over betrayal," whereas envious individuals tend to feel"
resentment and rancor" (p. 907). Parrott (1991) also argued that, "It should be apparent that there are strong similarities
between malicious envy and anger. In fact, the distinction between the two rests primarily on whether the hostility is
justified" (p. 10).
Envious anger and resentment can be directed at a person, a group of people, or at the general state of affairs, but envy
can also be experienced apart from any feelings of anger and hostility. As Parrott (1991) stated, "One may feel angry at
the fates for making some people beautiful without feeling angry at beautiful people for being beautiful" (p. 11). In our
close relationships with others, we expect some admiration, awe, or nonmalicious envy to exist, but not anger and
resentment. For example, if we are bowling or playing tennis with friends, we label them as "bad sports" if they grow
angry because they are losing.
Envious anger also stems from frustration. As Smith (1991) contended, envy can lead to anger because the envious
person feels he or she cannot reach a goal or desired state that someone else has achieved. This frustration is often
directed at the rival, who is seen as achieving success much too easily. As cognitive dissonance theory predicts, people
find it difficult to reconcile the fact that they may work hard for something but not achieve it, whereas someone else
appears to effortlessly obtain the same goal. To decrease dissonance (and the attendant frustration), envious individuals
search for shortcomings in rivals. They also find reasons to dislike the rival
 
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in an effort to bolster their liking for themselves (e.g., "She might be a great tennis player, but she's not as smart or pretty
as I am"). For example, Salovey and Rodin (1984) found that envious individuals reportedly felt anxious about
interacting with rivals, did not want to pursue friendships with them, and disparaged them on various personal traits.
Sadness. Similar to fear, sadness is a common affective response when people experience jealousy and envy, yet the type
of sadness differs depending on whether the individual is jealous or envious. Jealous sadness stems from the potential loss
of a valued relationship and the loneliness that accompanies such loss. Envious sadness stems from one's feelings of
inferiority, hopelessness, and helplessness.
Some research suggests that sadness is more central to envy than jealousy. The logic behind this argument is that sadness
follows, rather than accompanies, the jealousy experience. White and Mullen (1989) put it this way:
Sadness is present in most experiences of jealousy. The fear of a future that is depleted and empty usually leads to
sadness. Sadness may well be muted, because jealousy is a state in which loss is feared rather than accepted, and
sadness is likely to predominate in jealousy only when hope is abandoned. Jealousy is primarily a state of
excitement and activation that is directed at the future and at changing that future, rather than a state of passive
and sad acceptance. (p. 180)
White and Mullen also noted that jealousy-related depression is associated with feelings of guilt and worthlessness, as
well as anger and suspicion. These feelings of worthlessness can lead jealous individuals to believe they deserve betrayal.
Work by Sharpsteen (1991) also supports the argument that intense sadness is most likely to follow rather than
accompany jealousy. Arguing from a prototype perspective, Sharpsteen asserted that although jealousy is "a singular
blend of anger, sadness, and fear," sadness is probably the least central of these emotions to the jealousy experience (p.
36). According to Shaver et al.'s (1987) prototype analysis, common antecedents of sadness include the loss of a valued
relationship and separation from a loved one, which supports the contention that sadness is most likely to occur after
relationship loss.
Some measure of sadness still commonly accompanies jealousy. Bringle (1991), for example, argued that in jealousy
situations, "sadness results from the combination of high levels of commitment and relational losses that are irretrievable
or the possibility of relationship termination" (p. 111, emphasis added). Mathes et al. (1985) argued that the loss of
relationship
 
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rewards is responsible for the feelings of sadness elicited in jealousy situations. Certainly, jealous individuals often feel
that they have lost trust in their partners and that "things will never be the same" even if the relationship continues. Thus,
some level of sadness is expected to accompany jealousy because of the potential for relationship loss and the diminished
reward value of the relationship.
Sadness appears to be a central, vital part of the experience of envy. Shaver et al. (1987) found that the prototypical
antecedents of sadness included undesirable outcomes; rejection or exclusion; not getting what one wants, wishes for, or
strives for; and having reality fall short of expectations. Thus, situations such as failing at a particular task, being rejected
in favor of another, and receiving less praise than expected would all be likely candidates to produce sadness. When a
rival is also involved (i.e., as the person who succeeds, is accepted, or receives the praise), envy is also likely to surface.
It appears, then, that there are many situations that call forth both sadness and envy. This is not surprising given that
negative comparisons to others and the resultant focus on one's own shortcomings are at the heart of the envious
experience. Moreover, the desperate desire to possess something, followed by the disappointment of not achieving one's
goal, appears to be a ready-made recipe for promoting sadness and despair. In short, the self-reflective process that
produces feelings of envy is also likely to elicit feelings of sadness and discontent.
Both jealousy and envy are most likely to be accompanied by feelings of sadness when the jealous or envious person
engages in brooding behavior and harbors deep feelings of low self-worth. In his study on reactions to jealousy, Bryson
(1976, 1991) found a jealousy factor labeled intropunitiveness. Individuals scoring highly on this factor tended to
internalize their jealous feelings and blame themselves for potential relationship termination or de-escalation. These
individuals reported punishing themselves for being jealous rather than directing any negative affect toward the partner
or the rival. Such self-directed blame is likely to lead to brooding and intense feelings of sadness. In Fitness and
Fletcher's (1993) study of prototypical responses to emotion, jealousy was associated with brooding and negative feelings
toward the self.
Lowered self-esteem is also likely to contribute to the sadness experienced with jealousy and envy. According to a
survey conducted by Salovey and Rodin (1985), jealous and envious individuals tend to have low opinions of
themselves, to see their "actual" selves as inferior to their "ideal" selves, and to value visible accomplishments and status
symbols such as popularity, fame, wealth, positions of authority, and beauty. Parrott and Smith (1993) noted that jealousy
and envy are both associated with lowered self-esteem and feelings of sadness, hopelessness, and despair. However, the
explana-
 
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tory mechanism is different for the two emotions. For jealousy, lowered self-esteem is likely due to feelings of projected
rejection and loss. For envy, lowered self-esteem is likely a function of feelings of inferiority and longing.
Summary. The experiences of jealousy and envy often produce negative emotional reactions and self-perceptions. In the
case of jealousy, individuals are likely to feel fear due to possible abandonment and relational loss, anxiety related to
relational uncertainty, anger in response to perceived betrayal, and sadness at the prospect of potentially losing a valued
relationship. In the case of envy, individuals are likely to fear rejection, experience anxiety or despair due to their
perceived inferiority, and feel sad and hopeless if they do not see a way of improving their situation. In both cases,
lowered self-esteem is a likely outcome because a negative self-to-other comparison has been made. Jealous individuals
generally believe that their partners compared them unfavorably to a rival. Envious individuals make the unfavorable
self-to-other comparison themselves.
Despite the considerable inner turmoil that jealousy and envy often produce, these emotions are more than purely
intrapersonal phenomena. Both emotions originate in social interaction and/or social comparison, both usually have
consequences for relationships, and both are expressed in interpersonal communication. In the following section, we
outline some negative interpersonal consequences of these emotions, including the destructive forms of communication
that are used to express jealousy and envy. We begin by examining the relational outcomes and communicative behaviors
that are associated with jealousy (see Table 2.2 for a listing of relevant communication strategies).
Interpersonal Consequences and Communication Related to Jealousy
Uncertainty, Suspicion, and Distrust. Romantic jealousy is associated with three interrelated intrapersonal
experiencesuncertainty, suspicion, and distrust. When individuals suspect that their partners are involved with rivals or
distrust their partners, they are likely to experience high levels of relational uncertainty. Likewise, when people are
uncertain about the state of their relationships, they may feel there is greater potential for their partner to become
involved with a rival. Suspicion and distrust are also likely to co-exist, although distrust is likely to be the most
pervasive when uncertainty is reduced so that suspicions are confirmed. As White and
 
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TABLE 2.2
Negatively Valenced Communicative Behaviors Associated With Uncertainty, Distrust,
and Suspicion
Behaviors and Definition/Examples
Surveillance and Guarding
1. Surveillance/vigilance. Behaviors that function to verify the partner's actions and
reduce uncertainty about the nature of the rival relationship, for example, spying on the
partner or looking through the partner's personal belongings and calling the partner
unexpectedly to verify her/his whereabouts.
2. Concealment/restriction. Behaviors that function to conceal the partner and/or to
restrict the partner's access to potential rivals, for example, refusing to introduce the
partner to potential rivals and refusing to take the partner to a party where rivals would
be present.
3. Monopolizing the partner's time. Behaviors that function to maximize the time the
partner spends with the jealous person and minimize the time the partner spends with
potential rivals, for example, planning joint activities that take up all of the partner's
time and insisting that the partner spends all her/his free time with you.
Communication With the Rival
1. Information seeking. Communicating with the rival in order to find out more about
the rival and the rival relationship, for example, talking with the rival to determine what
kind of a person he or she is and asking the rival questions about the relationship with
the partner.
2. Derogation of the mate to rivals. Disclosing negative information (whether true or
untrue) about the partner in an effort to discourage the rival from pursuing the partner,
for example, telling the rival that the partner is not very bright and is irritable and telling
the rival that having a relationship with her/him is a bad experience.
3. Rival threats. Threatening the rival through the use of aggressive communication,
hostility, and warnings, for example, staring coldly at the rival, trying to intimidate the
rival, or threatening to hit the rival.
4. Violence Toward rivals. Actually causing physical harm to the rival or the rival's
property, for example, pushing the rival out of the way and vandalizing the rival's car.
Signs of Possession
1. Verbal signs of possession. Verbal communication that asserts the relationship
between the jealous person and the partner, for example, introducing the partner as one's
''husband," "wife," "girlfriend," and so forth and bragging to rivals about how much she
or he and the partner love one another.
2. Physical signs of possession. Nonverbal communication that functions as relationship
displays, for example, holding the partner's hand when others are around and kissing the
partner in front of potential rivals.
3. Possessive ornamentation. Utilizing objects to display the relationship, for example,
asking the partner to wear a ring or letterman's jacket and hanging the partner's picture
in prominent places.
 Avoidance
1. Physical and emotional withdrawal. Withdrawing from the partner, for example,
spending less time with the partner and withdrawing affection from the partner
2. Situation avoidance. Avoiding jealousy-provoking situations, for example, refusing to
go places where jealousy could surface and avoiding situations where the rival might be
present.
3. Unwillingness to communicate. Refusing to communicate with the partner, for
example, becoming quiet around the partner and failing to call the partner on the
telephone.
Note. Category lables and examples are adapted from Buss (1988) and Guerrero et al.
(1995).

 
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Mullen (1989) stated, "Sadly, trust is often abandoned when jealousy takes root. The past actions and future intentions of
the partner are exactly what jealousy puts in question; the fidelity of the partner is at issue, and therefore he or she cannot
be trusted" (p. 233). Similarly, Buunk (1991) noted that when jealousy is a reactive emotional response to a partner's
infidelity, many people label their emotion as anger rather than jealous per se. This is because infidelity is usually
perceived as a disloyal act of betrayal that diminishes relational trust.
Relational uncertainty, suspicion, and distrust prompt a number of communicative responses to jealousy that have the
potential to be valenced negatively. Four such responses are surveillance and guarding, communication with the rival,
possessiveness, and avoidance (see Table 2.2).
Surveillance behavior is typically used to reduce uncertainty and guard the relationship. Guerrero and Afifi (1997), for
example, found that individuals who wanted to reduce uncertainty about the rival relationship reported engaging in
surveillance behaviors and restricting the partner's access to potential rivals. Pfieffer and Wong (1989) described
cognitive jealousy as a composite of suspicious thoughts and worries and behavioral jealousy as a group of surveillance
behaviors, including actions such as questioning the partner about her or his whereabouts, paying a surprise visit to the
partner to see who is with her or him, and looking through the partner's belongings for evidence of an affair. In this and
many other conceptualizations of jealousy, cognitive suspicion and behavioral jealousy are inextricably linked. Buss
(1988) discussed several guarding or mate retention behaviors, including vigilance, mate concealment, and
monopolization of the mate's time. These guarding behaviors are most likely to be used when the jealous individual is
suspicious or worried about the partner's potential involvement with others.
Communication with the rival is also associated with uncertainty reduction and mate guarding. Guerrero and Afifi (1997)
found that jealous individuals who wanted to reduce uncertainty about the rival relationship were likely to communicate
with the rival directly (e.g., ask them how long they have known their partner or tell them to keep away from the
partner). Bryson (1976, 1991) reported that jealous individuals sometimes seek information by confronting the rival.
Jealous individuals also denigrate their partners in front of others as a method of discouraging rivals from pursuing their
partners. For instance, a male might tell a rival that his girlfriend is demanding, lazy, or even that she has a social disease
(Buss, 1988). In more rare circumstances, jealous individuals threaten rivals through verbal aggression, intimidation, or
physical violence.
 
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Signs of possession are also used to ward off potential rivals. Interestingly, signs of possession also function to show how
devoted and close a couple is. For example, tie signs (e.g., holding hands, or wearing a wedding ring) reflect affection
and caring between relational partners. However, these signs also function as a public signal that the partner is "taken."
Jealous individuals may publicly flaunt their relationship with the partner when they are suspicious and/or distrustful. In
this case, signs of possession are designed to reduce the rival's uncertainty about the unavailability of the partner. Buss
(1988) described three types of possessiveness cuesverbal, physical, and ornamentation (see Table 2.2). Pinto and
Hollandsworth (1984) discussed several ways that people display possessiveness, including discouraging the partner from
making new friends and spending excessive amounts of time with the partner. Possessive individuals feel lonely and
worry when they are separated (even briefly) from their partners. Due to high levels of suspicion and distrust, possessive
individuals also feel an insatiable need to keep the partner to themselves by isolating the partner from a broader social
circle (Pinto & Hollandsworth, 1984).
Finally, uncertainty and suspicion sometimes lead individuals to avoid active communication with their partners. Schaap,
Buunk, and Kerkstra (1988) found a small but significant association between jealousy and an avoidant conflict style.
Specifically, jealous individuals became unwilling to discuss relational problems and retreated (both physically and
emotionally) from conflict situations. Afifi and Reichert (1996) used an uncertainty reduction theory framework to
explain the association between jealousy and avoidance. According to these authors, jealousy is a highly
uncertaintyproking situation. Indeed, their research shows that jealousy increases motivation to decrease uncertainty.
Afifi and Reichert also found a tendency for uncertain, jealous individuals to avoid communicating with their partners,
presumably because they felt uncertain regarding the partner's reaction.
Retaliation, Conflict, and Violence. Because jealousy is such an intense emotion and because it can engender feelings of
deep hurt and betrayal, jealous individuals sometimes engage in aggressive, manipulative, and/or violent behavior (see
Table 2.3). Buunk (1991) discussed the link between intense jealous feelings and aggressive behavior. Specifically, he
argued that:
In a normal, satisfying relationship there will usually be a preference for problem solving and compromise, and
for taking into account the interests of the other person. However, when the other shows a clear interest in
someone else, the tendency to be cooperative will diminish . . . and the [jealous] individual's attitude seems to
become . . . more competitive and aggressive. (p. 165)
 
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Schaap, Buunk, and Kerkstra (1988) examined associations between five conflict styles and jealousy. They found that
jealousy was most strongly associated with an aggressive conflict style (r = .78), although it also associated with
compromise (r = .42), soothing (r = .40) and avoidance (r = .27). Jealousy was inversely related to problem solving (r =
-.21), as Buunk (1991) argued.
Sometimes jealous individuals feel a strong desire to enact revenge against their partners. Bryson (1976, 1991) discussed
the concept of reactive retribution, which involves active attempts to get back at the partner who provoked jealous
feelings. Reactive retribution includes behavior such as counterjealousy inductions, becoming sexually aggressive with
others, criticizing the partner in front of others, and dating others to get back at the partner. Guerrero and Afifi (1997)
discussed retaliation as a potential goal in jealousy situations. According to these authors, retaliation functions to vent
frustration, anger, and hurt, and also serves to restore equity by "evening the score" (p. 8).
TABLE 2.3
Negatively Valenced Communicative Behaviors Associated With Retaliation and
Conflict
Behaviors and Definitions/Examples
Aggressive Communication
1. Distributive communication. Direct and aggressive communication with the partner,
for example, yelling at and arguing with the partner and making accusations and
criticizing the partner's actions.
2. Active distancing. Indirect modes of communicating aggression to the partner, for
example, pointedly ignoring the partner and acting cold and distant; withdrawing
affection.
Manipulation Attempts
1. Counterjealousy inductions. Attempts to make the offending partner feel jealous too,
for example, threatening to date and/or have sex with other people and flirting with a
third party to make the partner jealous.
2. Guilt inductions. Attempts to make the offending partner feel guilty about her/his
actions, for example, crying and telling the partner how hurt you are and threatening to
harm oneself if the partner leaves.
 Violent Behaviors
1. Violence toward the partner. Actions that physically harm the partner in some way,
for example, slapping the partner and cutting off the partner's hair so he or she looks
"ugly."
2. Violence Toward Objects. Directing aggression toward physical objects, for
example, slamming doors or throwing dishes and throwing the partner's possessions
out of the house.
Note. Category labels and examples are adapted from Buss (1988) and Guerrero et al.
(1995).

 
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Common retaliation strategies include aggressive communication and manipulation. Guerrero and Afifi (1997) found that
individuals who wanted to get even with their partners engaged in behaviors such as arguing with the partner, making
accusations, giving the partner "the silent treatment, trying to make the partner feel guilty, and trying to induce
counterjealousy. Similarly, Buss (1988) forwarded a punishment strategy, which comprises tactics such as becoming
angry, ignoring the partner, threatening to terminate the relationship, yelling at the partner, and breaking off
communication.
Unfortunately, jealous individuals sometimes go beyond verbal aggression and manipulation and resort to violence. In
the midst of an epidemic of interpersonal violence and the current publicity of sensational court cases, jealousy has been
shown to be a major contributor to violence. Hansen's (1991) comprehensive review of literature concluded "that male
sexual jealousy may be the major source of conflict in an overwhelming majority of spousal homicides in North
America. Similarly, numerous studies have noted the prevalence of jealousy as a motive in non-fatal wife abuse" (p.
225). Considerable research has also shown that jealousy, money, and alcohol are the three key antecedents of violence
in the United States and Great Britain (see Delgado & Bond, 1993, for a review). Stets and Pirog-Good (1987) found the
jealousy variable to increase females' use of violence in dating relationships by 240%. Sugarman and Hotaling (1989), in
their review of the literature on dating violence, came to the startling conclusion that "in every study in which a
respondent had a chance to list jealousy as a cause, it was the most frequently mentioned reason" for violence in dating
relationships (p. 12). Similarly, Laner (1990) found that jealousy was one of the top precipitators of violence among high
school- and college-age dating couples. She further argued that couples often see jealousy "as the `real' problem, and
violence as merely an `ordinary' or predictable response to the problem" (p. 320).
As discussed previously, violence has historically been a socially sanctioned course of action in jealousy situations,
which makes it more difficult to stop and easier to excuse. This unfortunate state of affairs may explain why some people
tolerate violent jealousy. Fortunately, however, there is reason to believe that the link between jealousy and violence is
weakening. The percentage of jealousy-related murders in the United States has declined since the mid-1970s, dropping
from 10.7% of all murders in 1964 to only 2% of all murders in 1987 (Delgado & Bond, 1993; Stearns, 1989). The
largest drop occurred from 1975 to 1976, when the percentage decreased from 7.3% to 2.8%. From 1975 to 1987, the rate
stayed under 3%, suggesting that jealousy is regarded as a less justifiable motivation for violence now than it was
previously (Stearns, 1989).
 
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Jealous violence stems from imagined, as well as real, extradyadic interaction. In his book on morbid jealousy that results
from delusions of infidelity, Mowat (1966) described the history of murder at the British "lunatic asylum," Broadmoor:
"Possessed of these delusions, the jealous man persistently accuses his wife or mistress of infidelity. Thirty of the male
murderers and all six of the female murderers accused their partners of infidelity" (p. 92). White and Mullen (1989), who
reviewed numerous studies on the association between jealousy and violence, concluded that pathologically jealous
individuals are sensitive to "every nuance in [their] environment that may hint at unfaithfulness" (p. 226). They also
describe how jealous violence is triggered by symbolic association. For example, in their case studies, White and Mullen
reported that one woman attacked her husband when he asked for a beer because she believed that he had an affair with
a bar maid. Another woman gripped hold of a rival's clothing and told her to stay away from her husband. The rival's
throat constricted and she began making choking noises and trying to breathe. At this point, the jealous woman
associated the heavy breathing with the sound the rival would make when having sex with her husband. The jealous
woman then became even more violent.
Given these vivid examples, it might seem that jealousy biologically leads to inevitable violence (see Guerrero &
Andersen, 1998 for a discussion of sociobiological forces contributing to jealousy). Such is not the case. Among the
thousands of jealous episodes that occur each day, few result in violence. However, whereas violence is not a common
consequence of jealousy, jealousy is a common antecedent of violence. As Hupka (1991) pointed out, 37% to 50% of the
U.S. population has extramarital affairs, but less than .01% of the U.S. male population commits murder in response to
jealousy. Guerrero, Andersen, Jorgensen, Spitzberg, and Eloy (1995) found violence to be a relatively infrequent
response to jealousy. Nonetheless, a significant percentage of murders are jealousy induced. This is another paradox of
jealousy. Few emotions create such a unique combination of fear, anger, and sadness. For a small percentage of the
population, this emotional devastation leads to extreme violence.
In some cases, violence and/or verbal aggression is used as a form of guarding and protecting the relationship or
manipulating the relational partner. Paul et al. (1993) argued that whether we like it or not, aggressive action can
sometimes be functional. They contended that jealousy-induced aggression can lead people to feel guilty and rethink their
actions. Moreover, if the offending partner does not show any regret, the jealous individual probably extrapolates that
there is a high likelihood of similar transgressions occurring in the future and may thereby terminate the relationship.
Despite the potential functions that aggression might serve,
 
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Paul et al. cautioned that "physical aggression is unlikely to strengthen the relationship. Emotional hurt is more likely to
do the job" (p. 403). In the long run, we believe that emotional hurt is damaging to the relationship as well.
Relational (Dis) Satisfaction. All of the communicative behaviors just discussedranging from active distancing, to
distributive communication, manipulation and threats, avoidance, and violencehave been found to have some negative
impact on relational satisfaction. Jealousy, in general, associates with relational dissatisfaction. For example, two recent
studies (Andersen et al., 1995; Guerrero & Eloy, 1991) found that cognitive jealousy shares a robust negative association
with relational satisfaction. The causal nature of this relationship has yet to be determined, but it is likely that individuals
who are dissatisfied with their relationships are likely to think that their partners are also dissatisfied, and therefore, their
partners may be involved with or interested in others. It is also likely that the jealousy experience itself can lead to
relational dissatisfaction, particularly when negative emotional reactions and aggressive, manipulative behaviors occur. It
is likely, then, that the association between jealousy and relational satisfaction operates as a bidirectional process.
However, jealousy is not always destructive. Research suggests that couples who use integrative communication methods
often emerge from the jealousy situation feeling secure and gaining new insight into their relationships. Integrative
communication, such as disclosing jealous feelings, questioning the partner in a nonaccusatory fashion, and discussing
the future of the relationship often leads to open discussion and promotes relational satisfaction (Andersen et al., 1995).
Expressing negative emotion also promotes relational happiness under certain circumstances. Andersen et al. found that
when jealousy-related emotions such as anger, frustration, and sadness were communicated alone or alongside
distributive communication, active distancing, and/or avoidance, the result was decreased relational satisfaction.
However, when negative emotions were expressed in the midst of discussing the problem via integrative communication,
satisfaction levels were at their peak. It may be that the expression of negative emotion, within the context of integrative
communication, leads the partner to see the jealous person as open, sincere, and caring.
Other communicative responses to jealousy, collectively labeled compensatory restoration behaviors (see Guerrero,
Andersen, Jorgensen, Spitzberg, & Eloy, 1995), may also be associated with relational satisfaction. Compensatory
restoration behaviors encompass strategies designed to improve the self or the relationship in an effort to retain the
partner. Guerrero et al. listed tactics such as trying to improve one's appearance
 
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and trying to be the best partner possible as compensatory restoration behaviors. Buss (1988) discussed similar tactics,
including resource display (e.g., spending money on or buying gifts for the partner), sexual inducements (e.g., giving in
to the partner's sexual requests), enhancing physical appearance (e.g., using make-up and/or wearing the latest fashions),
and emphasizing love and caring (e.g., being especially complimentary, affectionate, and helpful). Because these
behaviors demonstrate love, caring, and a concern for the relationship, they sometimes promote relational satisfaction.
However, if these behaviors are seen as desperate attempts to win back the partner, they are actually counterproductive
(Guerrero et al., 1995).
Another tactic listed by Buss (1988), labeled submission and debasement, is especially likely to be viewed as such a
desperate ingratiation attempt. Submission and debasement involves engaging in behaviors such as promising to change
in order to please the partner, going along with everything the partner says, giving in to the partner's wishes, and
becoming the partner's "slave" (p. 299). Even if these behaviors are successful in preserving the relationship, they are
likely to promote low self-esteem.
Interpersonal Consequences and Communication Related to Envy
Coping With Negative Self-Evaluation. Because envy is precipitated by some type of negative self-to-other comparison,
our close relationships with friends, family, and romantic partners form fertile ground for promoting envy, rivalry, and
competition. Two theoretical frameworks help explain this phenomenonSocial comparison theory and the self-evaluation
maintenance view (Messman, 1995; Salovey & Rodin, 1989).
Festinger's (1954) social comparison theory is predicated on the principles that people are driven to evaluate themselves
and people make self-evaluations by comparing themselves to others. Research and theory indicates that these self-to-
other comparisons are most likely to be made in the context of our interpersonal networks. Festinger, for example, argued
that people tend to compare themselves with similar others. A study by Dakin and Arrowood (1981) provides support for
this principle by demonstrating that people were most likely to compare themselves to others who were relatively close
to them in terms of ability. Because similarity is a cornerstone in many friendships, it is logical that self-to-other
comparisons tend to occur within the confines of such relationships. In addition, people spend time with their friends
making them proximal targets for competitive comparisons.
The self-evaluation maintenance view (Tesser & Campbell, 1982), which was built on some of the premises of social
comparison theory, is
 
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grounded in the notion that positive self-evaluation is a primary motive behind the actions of most individuals,
particularly in Western cultures. According to this theory, positive self-evaluation occurs through the process of self-
reflection and comparison to others. Reflection is likely to occur under several conditions, such as when people fall short
or exceed their own expectations for achieving goals. In addition to having an internal yardstick for evaluating ourselves,
Tesser and Campbell (1982; Tesser, 1986) argue that we use other people's successes and failures as points of reference
for reflection and comparison, especially when those people are close to us. For example, if a good friend suddenly
achieves a high degree of financial success, you may question whether your own financial situation is acceptable.
In a test of the self-evaluation maintenance view, Salovey and Rodin (1984) tested and found support for the contention
that envy is strongest under three eliciting conditions.
1. There must be a negative self-to-other comparison.
2. This comparison must be in an area that is highly self-relevant to the potentially envious person.
3. The envious person and the rival should be similar in abilities and/or share a close relationship.
When these conditions are present, envy is likely to be experienced and the envious person should engage in coping
behaviors to help alleviate negative affect. Salovey and Rodin (1988, 1989) forwarded three such coping strategies: (a)
self-reliance, which includes avoiding outward emotional expression, keeping busy, and refusing to ask others for help;
(b) self-bolstering, which includes concentrating on one's positive qualities and doing nice things for oneself; and (c)
selective ignoring, which includes re-evaluating the importance of a goal so that it is no longer highly self-relevant.
Communicative behaviors associated with these coping strategies might include the following: avoiding communication
with the rival, spending time with people who are positively reinforcing, engaging in activities in which one has
exceptional ability, and talking about one's achievements with others.
Intense feelings of envy may also lead a person to behave negatively toward the rival. Based on Salovey and Rodin's
(1984) findings, it appears that envious individuals not only avoid communicating with the rival, but also bad mouth
them. For example, an envious person may point out a rival's negative characteristics to others. If others agree with these
negative assessments and show liking for the envious person, the sting of the initial self-to-other comparison is
diminished. Obviously, communicative behaviors such as these can have negative effects on the relationship between the
envious person and the rival.
 
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Competitive Behaviors. New research on the link between competitiveness and communication suggests that avoidance
and bad mouthing the rival are only two of several strategies that envious individuals use to cope with their feelings (see
Messman, 1995, 1996; Messman & Cupach, 1996). Messman (1995) argued that competitiveness occurs when people
make social comparisons for purposes of self-evaluation. When the self-to-other comparison is negative, people are
likely to experience envy. To examine the link between competitiveness and communication, Messman asked students to
describe the types of behaviors that they typically view as competitive. Using a thematic content analysis to sort these
behaviors, Messman found five overarching categories of themesantagonistic behaviors, success-oriented behaviors,
comparative behaviors, antisocial behaviors, and context-bound behaviors. Of these, antagonistic and antisocial
behaviors appear to be particularly likely to produce negative relational consequences. Therefore, we discuss these two
strategies in more detail (see Table 2.4).
Antagonistic behaviors promote self-to-other comparisons. Individuals who express superiority and/or brag are
particularly likely to become targets of malicious envy. These individuals may possess low self-esteem and feel a strong
need to present themselves as superior. As Salovey and Rodin (1988) found, individuals sometimes cope with envy by
engaging in self-bolstering. Certainly, communicative behaviors, such as expressed superiority and bragging, are part of
the self-bolstering process.
Envious individuals also make themselves feel better by belittling others. Rather than casting themselves as superior,
individuals who belittle cast others as inferior. The result, however, is the same. The envious individual has bolstered her
or his own self-image at the expense of another. Belittling may also accompany the cognitive strategy of selective
ignoring, which involves reducing the importance of certain skills and abilities. As a case in point, imagine finding out
that one of your close friends and colleagues received a prestigious award that you coveted. Rather than facing the idea
that your friend is more worthy than you are, you might convince yourself that the award was not that important. Salovey
and Rodin (1984) also provided a nice example of this. They described a situation in which a colleague informs them
that his article on jealousy will be published as the lead article in a prestigious journal. Because the authors also publish
research on jealousy, they speculate that this news would be likely to elicit envy. To maintain their positive definitions of
self and reduce the threat that their colleague poses, Salovey and Rodin (1989) speculated that they might cognitively
downgrade the journal or write the journal editor a letter describing the study's flaws. If the envious person went a step
further and
 
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TABLE 2.4
Competitive Behavior Likely to Be Associated with Negative Relational Outcomes
Behaviors and Definition/Example
ANTAGONISTIC BEHAVIORS:
Behaviors That Encourage Negative Self-to-Other Comparisons
Expressed superiority. Actions that cast oneself as superior to others, for example,
correcting other people in front of others
Belittling. Actions that cast others as inferior to oneself, for example, downplaying,
dismissing, or laughing at another person's ideas, telling the partner that s/he
got''lucky" when he or she accomplished something, and saying that the partner's
 accomplishment is "not such a big deal."
Bragging. Actions that call undue attention to one's achievements, for example,
telling others about one's achievements or showing people a big paycheck.
Aggressiveness. Verbal or nonverbal behaviors that challenge or intimidate others, for
example, frequently disagreeing with someone and becoming argumentative, and
giving people the "evil eye."
Insincerity/manipulation. Using manipulation to force a negative self-to-other
comparison, for example, acting phony or condescending or forcing a compliment.
Subterfuge. Purposeful actions that are designed to diminish the rival's positive
image, for example, making negative, untrue remarks about the rival to others, trying
to make the rival lose concentration so he or she will perform poorly, and making it
seem as though the rival cheated.
ANTISOCIAL BEHAVIORS:
Behaviors That Reflect Competitiveness and/or Envy-Proneness
Social distance. Behaviors directed at the rival that show disinterest and avoidance,
for example, avoiding direct eye contact with the rival, not paying attention to what
the rival is saying, and staying away from the rival in social situations.
General anxiety/defensiveness. Behaviors that show anxiety and/or defensiveness, for
example, acting nervous when it is time to perform a task, becoming especially
serious when engaging in a competitive task, and acting defensive when one does
poorly.
Noncooperative efforts. Behaviors that indicate unwillingness to work with a group,
for example, suddenly working harder when someone else in the group starts doing
well, refusing to help others in the group do better, and working alone instead of with
others.
Self-focus. Behaviors that demonstrate self-absorption, for example, using "I" rather
than "we" when speaking about a joint project, insisting on doing things a certain
way, and dominating discussions.
Note. This table is adapted from Messman's (1996) work on competitiveness.

verbalized these thoughts to the colleague (e.g., "That journal's not that great anyway" and "Did you consider correcting
these flaws . . .?"), belittling would occur.
 
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Another form of behavior that is often perceived as competitive is subterfuge (Messman, 1996). When people use this
strategy, they are intentionally trying to prevent the rival from excelling or from maintaining a positive self-image within
the social network. For example, an envious person might try to harm the rival's reputation. Strategies such as this are
probably most likely to be used when individuals experience intense envy or rivalry. Rivalry is somewhat different from
envy in that neither person possesses the valued commodity and both are actively seeking it (Bryson, 1977; Salovey &
Rodin, 1989). Whether the situation involves envy or rivalry, subterfuge is likely to be used when people want others to
evaluate them more positively than a rival and/or when people want to get revenge at the rival.
The final two forms of antagonistic behaviorsaggressiveness and insecurity or manipulationinvolve communication
styles that reflect a competitive orientation (Messman, 1996). Aggressive behaviors are viewed as personally challenging
and often intimidating, and therefore, they likely lead to competition and self-to-other evaluations. Insecurity or
manipulation behaviors appear to force others to either make a positive evaluation of the communicator or a negative
evaluation of themselves. For example, people who fish for compliments are trying to bolster their positive images of
themselves, whereas people who act condescending or stand offish imply that the sender's message is not worthwhile.
Messman (1996) also described four types of antisocial behaviors. The first of thesesocial distanceinvolves showing
disinterest and avoiding interaction with the rival. This strategy corresponds with Salovey and Rodin's (1984) research,
that found people want to avoid future interaction with rivals. When individuals are faced with a person who engenders a
negative self-to-other comparison, a natural reaction is to avoid them and thus, to avoid feeling badly about themselves.
The second antisocial behavior, general anxiety or defensiveness, is likely a symptom of envy proneness and
competitiveness. Individuals who take competitive situations to heart are most likely to be nervous when performing
important tasks and become defensive if the task is not performed well. The final two antisocial behaviorsnoncooperative
efforts and self-focusrepresent an unwillingness to work with others and a need to be the best or the leader when
conversing with others. These two objectives may appear contradictory on the surface, however, when you consider that
competitive people want to stand apart from others (but also want to be recognized for their accomplishments), such
actions make sense.
All of the antagonistic and antisocial behaviors just described lead to negative interpersonal consequences. Some
behaviors falling under Messman's (1996) success-oriented theme also promote negative conse-
 
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quences. For example, Messman discussed behaviors such as making a bet with someone, openly challenging someone's
position, and telling a group that the most important thing is to win. These behaviors increase the self-relevance of a skill
or topic area, which can lead to envy. In addition, some people reported that they or their partners got upset when they
lost. These types of success-oriented behaviors appear likely to promote conflict and separation rather than harmony and
solidarity.
Relational (Dis) Satisfaction. Because envy and competitiveness are often found within the context of close relationships,
it is natural to wonder how envious thoughts, emotions, and behaviors affect relational satisfaction. It appears obvious
that many of the behaviors discussed are detrimental to relationships. Behaviors such as expressed superiority and
bragging are likely to make others uncomfortable. Moreover, because envy and pride are popularly perceived as two of
the seven deadly sins, individuals who verbally express their superiority are viewed as arrogant rather than self-
confident. Behaviors such as belittling, aggressiveness, and insincerity or manipulation are also likely to promote
relational dissatisfaction because they force others to take a defensive stance. Put simply, most people do not want to be
around someone who is constantly disagreeing with or belittling them; although such a process may help one person
bolster positive self-to-other evaluations, it causes the other person to see herself or himself more negatively.
Messman and Cupach (1996) confirmed the contention that many antagonistic and antisocial behaviors negatively affect
relationships. In their study, friends completed questions regarding competitive communication, facework (i.e., how they
present themselves to one another), and interpersonal solidarity. Results showed that across same-sex and cross-sex
friendships, malevolent competitive behaviors were negatively associated with interpersonal solidarity. Malevolent
competition was measured with items such as: "My friend tries to `one-up' me," "My friend responds unhappily to
something I did well," ''My friend might make it seem like I am cheating when we play a game," and "My friend acts
stand-offish when wishing me well."
Certain competitive behaviors, however, were positively related to interpersonal solidarity. Specifically, behaviors that
reflected achievement competition appear to associate with positive relational outcomes (Messman & Cupach, 1996).
These behaviors include saying that one wants to work hard and excel, sharing one's achievements with others without
bragging, and asking about the friend's accomplishments. Interestingly, these behaviors are competitive in that they could
call forth a self-to-other comparison; however, they are framed in a way that emphasizes accomplishments over defeats
and solidarity over conflict.
 
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Finally, it is noteworthy that nonmalicious or admiring envy leads to liking and relational satisfaction. Such envy is likely
to occur when the ability, talent, or personal characteristic in question is only self-relevant for one of the relational
partners. For example, a husband might be immensely proud of his wife's ability to understand finances and build them a
sound investment portfolio because he is not good with numbers. Two friends may brag about one another's successes in
two different areas such as academics and athletics. In these cases, people are likely to admire their partners for
possessing desirable traits. In addition, they might bask in the reflected glory of their partner's accomplishments (see
Salovey & Rodin, 1989). In such cases, the idea that your relational partner is a good, talented, and worthwhile person,
coupled with the knowledge that your partner has chosen you as a companion, is likely to lead you to evaluate yourself
positively. Similarly, to the extent that relational partners possess positive personal characteristics and abilities, they have
the power to deposit rewards into the relationship, which ultimately makes the relationship more satisfying.

Conclusion
Although we primarily focused on the dark side of jealousy and envy, it should be evident that these emotions have a
bright side as well. Jealousy and envy are related yet distinct constructs. Both experiences are accompanied by a similar
constellation of emotion that includes anger, fear, and sadness. The cause of these emotions, however, differs. Jealousy,
which is the broader of the two constructs, is associated with fear over the prospect of losing a valued relationship, anger
over betrayal, and sadness over potential relationship loss. Envy, on the other hand, is rooted in anger at oneself and
resentment toward others, fear stemming from perceptions of inferiority, and sadness regarding one's failures and
shortcomings. Both jealousy and envy are associated with more negative than positive emotions, but the positive
emotions should not be overlooked. Jealousy can show love and appreciation, add romance to a dull relationship, or help
one realize the extent of care and commitment he or she feels for another. Envy can lead to admiration and self-
improvement.
Similarly, although jealousy and envy sometimes lead to destructive forms of interpersonal communication and,
ultimately, to relational dissatisfaction, at other times, these emotions lead to understanding and solidarity. Thus, it
appears that the way jealousy and envy are expressed is a key determinant of relational satisfaction. Jealous individuals
who show distrust by monitoring their partners' actions and becoming possessive, as well
 
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as those who show their anger through verbal or physical aggression, are likely to push their partners further away.
Similarly, those who handle envy by engaging in negatively valenced, competitive behaviors, such as belittling, bragging,
manipulation, and subterfuge, are likely to alienate others, which in turn, leads to even stronger feelings of resentment
and inferiority. However, the picture is not as dark as it might at first seem. When jealous individuals approach the
situation by discussing the problem with their partner in a calm and constructive manner, a new relational understanding
may emerge. Jealousy sometimes serves a protective function by prompting the jealous individual to express love and
affection when the relationship is in danger of going astray. Envy can also be functional, especially when it is used as a
motivational tool to improve oneself. Thus, as with many human emotions, jealousy and envy have both a dark,
dysfunctional side and a bright, functional side. Understanding both sides of these complex emotions is an important
enterprise for scholars, clinicians, and all who value their relationships with others.

Acknowledgment
We thank Susan Messman for sharing her work on competitiveness with us and for her valuable comments on the
competitiveness section of this chapter.

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II CONFUSING
 
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3
(Mis) Understanding
Alan L. Sillars
University of Montana
One day, I invited a colleague to eat dinner at my house after work. At the arranged time, I went to meet my friend at his
office, however, he was not there. I returned to my office, made several phone calls, and waited for a further signal about
what to do. Meanwhile, my colleague had gone to my home. Eventually, we connected and had dinner. This example is
typical of what people mean when they refer to a "misunderstanding." However, there is also a second way in which
people refer to "misunderstanding," which is suggested by the cliche, "my husband (or family, friends, parents, etc.)
doesn't/don't understand me." For example, a married couple has a quarrel about whether to ask the wife's sister to watch
their child. As the argument progresses, each person has a variety of thoughts. He thinks that the request is only fair
because they helped her sister in the past. She thinks her daughter would not be welcome and in addition, she does not
want her daughter exposed to the smoke at her sister's house. He thinks that she is just making excuses and that she does
not care about spending time together as a couple. She thinks he is only concerned about himself. He feels frustrated and
angry and thinks she is trying to evade the issue. She thinks that he is unwilling to compromise and will say anything to
get his way.
In the first example given, misunderstanding might be the result of innocent assumptions, a lack of information, or a
failure to communicate explicitly. Misunderstandings of this nature are mostly easy to correct and are not taken
personally. The second example is more typical of misunder-
 
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standing in relationship conflicts. In this case, misunderstanding mixes freely with disagreement (i.e., the disagreement
about what to do is compounded by incongruous attributions about the thoughts, desires, and intentions of each person).
This type of misunderstanding is not so easily dismissed as an error resulting from incomplete information. It often
occurs despite the fact that the people are intimately familiar with the issue and each other.
As an observation about general trends, the idea that understanding increases with increased closeness in relationships
(e.g., Colvin, Vogt, & Ickes, 1997; Planalp & Garvin-Doxas, 1994) seems irrefutable. This is, after all, what is meant
when a relationship is described as "close"; the psychological gap between separate individuals has narrowed. At the
same time, one of the ironies of close relationships is that they are often the source of the most persistent and troubling
misunderstandings. The central issue of this chapter is how to best account for such cases of persistent misunderstanding.
In essence, the answer I suggest is that closeness and efforts to communicate sometimes diminish rather than increase
understanding.
The adopted perspective emphasizes the interaction of interpersonal perception, interpersonal communication, and
interpersonal relationships. Perception, communication, and relationships are, in effect, the same phenomenon viewed
from different angles, however, they are ususally ordered in a particular way. Whereas many authors have considered
how the properties of perception and cognition affect communication, far fewer have considered how the characteristics
of communication affect interpersonal perception. Reversing this emphasis provides some additional insight into the
nature of understanding in long-term relationships. Understanding may be affected, for example, by the emotionality and
interdependence of close relationships, by the inherent ambiguity and complexity of communication, and by
communicative goals that influence the selectivity and structure of perception.
In the forthcoming chapter I first discuss general issues with regard to the meaning of understanding. Second, I consider
how properties of communication and relationships might affect interpersonal perception and understanding. Third, I
discuss probable sources of misunderstanding in relationship conflicts based on two recent studies in progress and related
work.

The Nature of Understanding and Misunderstanding

Following Laing, Phillipson, and Lee (1966), understanding is the congruence between one person's meta-perspective
(i.e., his or her estimate of the partner's perspective) and the other person's direct perspective (i.e., what
 
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the other person actually thinks). The simplicity of this definition of understanding is deceiving. Understanding, because
it describes a relationship between two intangibles (i.e., perspectives and metaperspectives), is highly abstract, subject to
various interpretations, and difficult to operationalize. Any difficulties encountered in identifying a person's perspective
are multiplied when considering mutual understanding.
Because perspectives are multifaceted, there are many areas in which understanding could be assessed. Understanding
and related concepts have been investigated in the context of trait perceptions, attitudes, role expectations, relationship
beliefs and patterns, self-concepts, conflict issues, communicative intentions, feelings, and immediate thoughts (see Ickes
& Simpson, 1997; Sillars & Scott, 1983). The diversity of this research literature shows that understanding has many
levels. Furthermore, relationships can (and generally do) reflect understanding in some areas and misunderstanding in
others. Therefore, depending on what aspects of understanding are assessed, studies may suggest different conclusions
about basic issues (e.g., the extent to which people understand or misunderstand one another or how understanding
affects relationship adjustment, (Ickes & Simpson, 1997; Sillars, 1989).
Common use of the term understanding has a few misleading implications. One such implication is that
misunderstanding is relatively simple and unmotivated, that is, some problems are "just misunderstandings."
Misunderstanding results from a variety of sources, some of which are simple, whereas others are subtle and persistent.
One sort of misunderstanding results from a lack of mutual knowledge or a shared communication code. These situations
could be called innocent misunderstandings because the motivations of the parties have little to do with the source of
misunderstanding. Innocent misunderstandings are generally simple and often trivial. When two people come to know
one another better, innocent misunderstandings should decrease.
The complexity of interaction goals distinguishes innocent misunderstanding from other cases. In all instances of
interpersonal communication, the parties have multiple goals, including identity and relationship goals as well as
information goals. When multiple goals are in alignment (i.e., identity and relationship goals are also served by being
clear and by understanding others), communication is straightforward and usually leads to greater understanding.
However, there are other situations in which perception and communication reflect tangled motivations. Ickes and
Simpson (1997) noted that both egocentric and altruistic goals influence how people attend to, process, and ignore
information during interactions. For example, two people who are determined to assert themselves in an quarrel might
structure their representations of one another in a way that
 
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supports self-justification and bolsters personal arguments. Alternatively, people might be motivated to misunderstand
one another out of benevolent goals, such as a desire to mitigate a perceived threat to the relationship posed by an
uncomfortable topic of conversation (Simpson, Ickes, & Blackstone, 1995). In addition, multiple goals affect the
readability of the target. For example, people often equivocate to maintain privacy and avoid negative consequences that
might result from being too clear (Bavelas, Black, Chovil, & Mullett, 1992; Chovil, 1994). Thus, both the production and
interpretation of messages are affected by motives aside from the desire to understand and be understood.
Another common implication of the term understanding is that the accuracy of understanding is an individual process (as
in ''Joanne misunderstood Kevin," or "My husband doesn't understand me."). Although interpretation is an individual
process, understanding is inherently relational. One problem with viewing understanding as an individual process rests
with the equivocality of direct perspectives, which serve as the criteria for determining the accuracy of metaperspectives.
Direct perspectives should not be regarded as a faithful representation of actual thoughts, feelings, attitudes, or
communicative intentions (Thomas & Fletcher, 1997). Direct perspectives are filtered, distorted, strategically reported,
and otherwise translated in much the same manner as metaperspectives as they are transformed from live experience to
accounts of that experience.
By way of illustration, consider a case of misunderstanding between mother and daughter. In this instance, the mother
states her concern about the way her daughter is dressed for school. The message is delivered with flat, neutral affect (as
trained raters would verify if they could observe), however, the daughter finds the remark to be full of condescension and
sarcasm. The mother believes, on the other hand, that she is merely trying to be helpful. Similar misunderstandings
appear to be commonplace; for example, incongruous evaluations of communicative intent often occur among married
couples, especially low adjustment couples (see Noller & Ruzzene, 1991). It may be tempting, in this example, to say that
the daughter misunderstands her mother. However, the daughter might counter by citing a variety of contextualizing
elements that enrich the meaning of the message (e.g., the mother always comments when the daughter wears a particular
blouse, her mother did not want her to buy the blouse in the first place, and they had a fight about the same thing just 2
days earlier). Of course, this does not settle the matter, because the mother might counter with her own list of
contextualizing factors. The correct interpretation could be argued indefinitely because the meaning of the mother's
message is ultimately a matter of perspective and is not fixed
 
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by reference to any single source of translation. Understanding is, therefore, an act of collaboration, not individual insight
alone.1
Yet another misleading implication is that understanding is a benchmark for good or effective communication. Spitzberg
(1994) suggested that there is an ideology of accuracy in popular and academic circles that equates clarity and
understanding with competence in communication. In contrast, Spitzberg noted that misunderstanding is often quite
functional (see also Chovil, 1994; Eisenberg, 1984; Kursh, 1971). Of course, it would be easy to overstate this point. It is
difficult to imagine how pervasive, chronic misunderstanding in relationships could be functional. Most studies that have
considered the issue have found a positive association between understanding or congruence of perception and
relationship satisfaction/adjustment (see Ickes & Simpson, 1997; Sillars & Scott, 1983). However, there are significant
exceptions that beg explanation (Thomas & Fletcher, 1997), including a few studies that reported a negative association
between understanding and satisfaction in marriage (Allen & Thompson, 1984; Sillars, Pike, Jones, & Murphy, 1984).
The relationship between understanding and satisfaction/adjustment is complicated by two basic considerations. First, as
suggested earlier, there is a need to balance multiple, often conflicting goals in communication. Thus, although some
understanding is probably inherent to effective communication, the effort to balance competing goals (e.g.,
intimacy/autonomy, politeness/assertiveness, communality/instrumentality) inevitably leads to a degree of censorship,
obfuscation, selective interpretation, and limited understanding, even in well-adjusted relationships (Spitzberg, 1993).
The second complication is that there are many areas in which understanding could be assessed. Furthermore, the
association between understanding and relationship satisfaction seems to rest on the context and domain of
understanding. For example, the research by Sillars et al. (1984) looked at understanding marital conflict issues. In this
case, less satisfied couples had more understanding about which issues were salient marital conflicts, presumably because
they communicated irritations and complaints in an unequivocal manner. In support of this interpretation, the research
found that the partner's negative and verbally competitive behavior during a structured discussion predicted understanding
better than
1 I do not mean to suggest that understanding is always negotiated. As Berger (1992) emphasized, understanding
may result substantially from the fortuitous overlap of individual perspectives that people bring with them to
relationships and indiscriminantly project onto others. In addition, I do not mean to dismiss the potential
importance of individual differences in empathic ability. There do seem to be consistent individual differences in
the ability to form understanding relationships, although the traits that account for these differences remain a
mystery (Colvin, Vogt, & Ickes, 1997; Marangoni, Garcia, Ickes, & Teng, 1995).
 
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other aspects of communication. These results do not establish that couples were dissatisfied because they understood
their partner's complaints, since causality can be reversed (i.e., couples had greater understanding because their
dissatisfactions were expressed more freely). However, it seems likely that increased recognition of irreconcilable
differences and unpleasant truths adds to dissatisfaction (Ickes & Simpson, 1997; Sillars, 1985).
There is also a counterpoint to the last observation, that is, fondness for the partner is often associated with an inflated
expectation of agreement and unrealistically positive or optimistic perceptions (Hendrick & Hendrick, 1988; Ickes &
Simpson, 1997; Murray & Holmes, 1996; Simpson et al., 1995; Thomas & Fletcher, 1997). Several authors have
suggested that these positive illusions or "benevolent misconceptions" preserve and enhance relationship satisfaction
(Ickes & Simpson, 1997) because "reality so often falls short of a person's hopes" (Murray & Holmes, 1996, p. 91). In
contrast, Fletcher and Kininmonth (1991) noted the possibility that ''those who are disillusioned or unhappy with their
relationships may [in certain respects] perceive their relationships in a realistic, even-handed, and hence, pessimistic
fashion (p. 243)." Thus, not only is misunderstanding a normal and expected consequence of communication, but there
are also instances where misunderstanding might reduce irreconcilable conflict and preserve needed optimism in
relationships.

Interpersonal Properties of Perception

Now, consider how characteristics of interpersonal relationships and interpersonal communication might contribute to the
persistence of misunderstanding. Because interpersonal perceptions are formed and maintained in particular relationships,
their structure is naturally affected by the key features of this context.
There are at least four such features that contribute to misunderstandingthe biasing effects of familiarity and intimacy,
inherent and strategic ambiguity in communication, the tendency to regard ambiguous inferences with certainty, and
narrative and rhetorical influences on interpersonal perceptions.
Familiarity and Bias
Some of the difficulties involved in understanding another person are situational, the most apparent difficulty being a
lack of familiarity, mutual
 
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knowledge, experiential background, or shared vocabulary. Misunderstandings that result from a lack of familiarity are
common with strangers, "out-group" members, members of different cultures, and so forth. With increased familiarity
and closeness, there is an increase in the amount of information one has about another person, which should facilitate
understanding in many respects. However, there is also a potential tradeoff between knowledge and objectivity (Sillars &
Scott, 1983).
The first half of this tradeoff is illustrated by the greater use of mutual knowledge in conversations among friends versus
those among strangers (Colvin et al., 1997; Planalp & Garvin-Doxas, 1994). Planalp and Garvin-Doxas (1994) noted that
the use of mutual knowledge is an obvious feature of conversations, such that observers can easily tell whether two
people are friends based on what they assume to know in common (i.e., what details are omitted in speech but assumed
to be understood). Colvin et al. (1997) summarized several studies that show the impact of mutual knowledge on
empathic accuracy during interactions. In these studies, people watched a videotape of an earlier conversation and tried to
infer the thoughts that another person reported having during the conversation. In two studies, friends were 50% more
accurate than strangers in judging the other person's thoughts (Graham, 1994; Stinson & Ickes, 1992). Stinson and Ickes
(1992) found that the advantage of friends was greatest when inferring thoughts about events that occurred at another time
or place, suggesting that greater mutual knowledge accounted for the greater empathic accuracy of friends. Furthermore,
another study indicated that the degree of empathic accuracy among same-sex friends was predicted by the perceived
closeness of the perceiver-target relationship (Gesn, 1995).
Colvin et al. (1997) interpreted these and other findings as indicating that friends develop an intersubjective meaning
context, in which they draw on shared memories of previous events to anticipate the other's thoughts. Friends also
develop more complex and integrated knowledge structures that facilitate retrieval and learning of information about the
other (Planalp & Garvin-Doxas, 1994). According to Planalp and Garvin-Doxas, the difference between strangers and
friends is analogous to the difference between novices and experts. That is, experts, as well as friends, remember
complex and related patterns of information rather than isolated details.
Surra and Ridley (1991) advanced a similar argument regarding interpersonal perception in close relationships and
families. These authors noted that insider reports of family interaction differ systematically from reports provided by
observers. Furthermore, insiders may agree more with each other than with outsiders (Margolin, Hattem, John, & Yost,
1985). Surra and Ridley suggested that these trends reflect the development of
 
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private meaning systems within close relationships, based on relational knowledge that is specific, complex, and unique
(see also Surra & Bohman, 1991).
On the other hand, there seems to be a point of diminishing returns where increased familiarity and closeness do not
bring further understanding. For example, couples who have been married longer do not necessarily have greater
understanding. Sillars and Zietlow (1993) found no differences between younger and older couples in understanding,
whereas Thomas, Fletcher, and Lange (1995; see also Fletcher & Thomas, 1996; Thomas & Fletcher, 1997) found lower
empathic accuracy among couples who had been married longer. Furthermore, there are a number of systematic biases in
interpersonal perception that occur at all stages of close relationships (see Sillars & Scott, 1983).
In contrast to acquaintances (where people are simply ignorant about one another), close relationships present a complex
situation in which inferences about others may be equally well-informed and biased. There are two sources of bias in
close relationships that are most relevant here. First, there is the flip side of the phenomena noted by Planalp and Garvin-
Doxas (1994). Although becoming another person's expert allows one to make sophisticated and organized inferences, it
also increases the tendency to view potential sources of information selectively and to make new inferences fit existing
relationship theories (Fletcher & Thomas, 1996). Over time, frequently activated inferences become increasingly
entrenched and monitoring the relationship for new information might decline as people listen more selectively and
assume they "have heard it all before." Thomas and Fletcher (1997) speculated along similar lines that empathic accuracy
peaks during early marriage when spouses are expending more effort to understand one another; thereafter, complacency
might diminish empathic accuracy. In the extreme, existing relationship schema can become rigid, absorbing, and
impermeable structures that dictate the outcome of communication (Raush, Barry, Hertel, & Swain, 1974; Watzlawick,
Beavin, & Jackson, 1967).
A second, broad influence on interpersonal perception is the greater degree of conflict and emotionality associated with
intimate relationships (see Sillars & Scott, 1983). Strong emotions account for a number of specific biases in
interpersonal perceptions, for example, mood-induced memory and cognition (Bradbury & Fincham, 1987; Forgas,
1996); selective attention to vivid, negative behavior, particularly within conflictual relationships (Bradbury & Fincham,
1987); self-serving attributions for negative events in distressed relationships (Fincham, Bradbury, & Scott, 1990);
decreased perspective-taking and complexity of thought during stressful conflicts (Sillars & Scott, 1983); and "motivated
inaccuracy" in threatening situations (Ickes & Simpson, 1997). In addition to these
 
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cognitive effects of emotion, the disorderly structure of relationship conflicts also contributes to misunderstanding in
close relationships, which is a point we return to later in the chapter (see Relationship Conflicts). The primary implication
here is that understanding is most problematic in the context of emotional conflicts.
Ambiguity
Another factor contributing to misunderstanding in close relationships is the ambiguity of interpersonal communication.
Misunderstanding is often attributed to a lack of communication, but this emphasis neglects the more subtle and difficult
aspects of communication. Communication is sometimes viewed as a mechanical process of transplanting ideas from the
head of one person to another using words (Berger, 1992). In contrast, Berger described communication as "an inferential
game in which individuals do their best to make sense of sketchy patterns of sights, sounds, and markings on paper," a
process that is "difficult and chancy" (p. 47). Even when accompanied by the best intentions, communication achieves
only partial success and, in an occasional instance, drives perspectives further apart.
All instances of communication are potentially problematic because explicit codes, such as language, are incomplete;
they symbolize some aspects of the speaker's "meaning" to the neglect of many others (e.g., Suzuki, 1978). Also,
explicitly coded information is not, by itself, sufficient to distinguish between the possible meanings of a message. To
resolve this ambiguity, it is necessary to infer the speaker's intent based on nonlinguistic, contextual information (Berger,
1992; Ritchie, 1991; Sperber & Wilson, 1995).
Naturally, different aspects of meaning are not equally problematic. Scott, Fuhrman, and Wyer (1991) noted that
different levels of inference are involved in communication, ranging from low-level semantic concepts necessary to
understand the literal meaning of a message to abstract inferences about the implications of encoded information (e.g.,
whether the husband's observation about Lyme disease at Yosemite is meant as an excuse for canceling a trip there; Scott
et al., 1991, p. 41). Similarly, a number of authors distinguished between the literal or propositional content of a message
and a second, pragmatic level of meaning that "defines the relationship" (Watzlawick et al., 1967). The second level of
meaning, variously referred to as the command or relationship (Watzlawick et. al., 1967), presentational (Danziger,
1976), illocutionary (Searle, 1969), or episodic (Frentz & Farrell, 1976) aspect of meaning includes the type of action
and expected response conveyed (e.g., a request for information, a plea for help, or a command) as well as the social or
evaluative implications
 
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of the act (e.g., whether the act shows commitment, restraint, formality, independence, or antagonism).
At each level of meaning, inferences about the speaker's intent are constrained by formal or informal communication
rules. However, the propositional content of a statement is determined to a much greater extent by the formal code,
whereas relational or illocutionary meanings rely heavily on informal and tacit knowledge. The social conventions at this
level are not always shared or consistently followed, so an act may variously be seen as an instance of advising versus
needling, explaining versus lecturing, concern versus intrusion, and so forth. Several considerations further complicate
interpretations:
A great variety of linguistic expressions may perform a given illocutionary or relationship act. For example, a
"promise" or "threat" can assume many linguistic forms.
Speech acts are often expressed indirectly (Jacobs & Jackson, 1983).
Relationship-level meaning is mostly implicit and analogic and is not readily translatable into words. Thus, it is
difficult to clarify (Watzlawick et. al., 1967).
In addition to inherent ambiguity, there is also strategic ambiguity in communication, reflecting the multiple goals of
individuals in interactions. That is, a speaker may, through obfuscation, attempt to preserve harmonious relations, prevent
recriminations, maintain personal privacy, or avoid being pinned down in an argument. Ironically, intimacy often
increases the intensity of equivocation strategies. Individuals escalate their efforts at obfuscation partly in response to the
potential transparency of close relationships, as in the case of an adolescent who reveals much more to family outsiders
than to insiders. This reaction represents a compensatory effort designed to maintain a comfortable level of integration
versus autonomy, which is one of the main dialectic tensions in close relationships (see Bochner & Eisenberg, 1987).
There are a few further implications of inherent and strategic ambiguity in communication. First, ambiguity invites
selectivity. The more ambiguous the message, the less constrained the listener is in furnishing an interpretation (Sanders,
1984). The second implication stems partly from the first. Specifically, the impact of explicit communication on
understanding is complex and is mediated partly by the ambiguity of the referent. This is a point that my colleagues and I
investigated in several studies of marital communication.
The first of these studies (Sillars et al., 1984) considered the association between observed communication patterns and
understanding of marital conflicts based on structured discussions and questionnaires, that were administered to two
samples of couples. There was no association between direct disclosure about conflict and understanding. Spouses largely
pro-
 
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jected their own views to the partner, although couples who were more negative had somewhat greater understanding. A
second study (Zietlow, 1986, Sillars & Zietlow, 1993) used parallel methods to investigate communication and conflict
patterns among young, midlife, and elderly married couples. This research indicated that elderly couples self-disclosed
less, discussed conflict issues less directly, and projected their self-cognitions to the partner more than younger couples;
however, their understanding of the partner's attitudes was about the same, even after controlling for the confounding
influence of projection on understanding.
A third study (Sillars, Weisberg, Burggraf, & Zietlow, 1990) also used a structured discussion of marital issues, but here
we distinguished between understanding of instrumental versus companionate attitudes. Companionate attitudes have to
do with affective and expressive qualities of marriage, whereas instrumental attitudes have to do with activities and tasks.
We also considered how closely and accurately spouses attended to their conversations, based on their recall of the
conversations immediately afterward. We reasoned that the companionate items (e.g., "In a good marriage, people don't
have secrets") were more abstract, relational, and ambiguous than the instrumental items (e.g., "A neat house is very
important"), which referred to more concrete and stable aspects of married life. Therefore, we expected understanding of
instrumental attitudes to exceed understanding of companionate attitudes. This prediction was confirmed. In addition,
recall accuracy was related to understanding of instrumental attitudes but not understanding of companionate attitudes.
This suggests that more attentive and accurate processing of conversation primarily affected understanding of less
ambiguous (i.e., instrumental) perceptions.
Finally, some aspects of the previous research were replicated by Sillars, Folwell, Hill, Maki, Hurst, and Casano (1994).
This time we relied on simple questionnaire measures of communication, that indicated how often couples discussed
various instrumental and companionate topics. The husband's understanding of the wife was not related to this measure
of communication; however, we found a positive association between communication frequency and the wife's
understanding of the husband on instrumental items. In contrast, there was a negative association between communication
frequency and the wife's understanding of the husband on companionate items. This research, along with the other
studies, indicates that more frequent, open, or direct communication is not associated in any simple way with greater
understanding in marriage. Furthermore, it appears that misunderstanding is most likely to persist, despite explicit
communication, in areas that are more ambiguous due to their abstract and relational nature.
 
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Certainty
The significance of ambiguity in communication is magnified by a companion phenomenon, which is the tendency of
perceivers to give little self-reflective attention to sources of ambiguity and bias. People routinely make strong inferences
about others in ambiguous circumstances, with little acknowledgment of their perceptions as inferences. This is not a
new insight but a variation on the well-worn principle of fact-inference confusion, with additional implications for
communication in close relationships. Inferences about communication are insulated from subsequent re-evaluation and
they elicit stronger reactions, in part, because they are not seen as inferences at all, but as objective observations
(Fincham et al., 1990). Furthermore, certainty, predictability, and understanding are expected in close relationships, so
people are even more likely to regard their inferences with certainty in this context. Of course, these tendencies do not
hold in all cases, as there are clearly times when people experience great uncertainty and subjective confusion in close
relationships (e.g., Planalp & Honeycutt, 1985; Planalp & Rivers, 1996). However, episodes of uncertainty are striking
precisely because they stand out against a backdrop of strong expectations.
I am not aware of any direct support for the argument that subjective certainty exceeds actual understanding; however,
there are several indications of related insensitivity toward ambiguity and bias in interpersonal perception. For example,
spouses generally assume that they agree more than they actually do (e.g., Acitelli, Douvan, & Veroff, 1993; Sillars &
Scott, 1983). In some areas, spouses show so little awareness of differences in perception that understanding scores drop
dramatically when the influence of agreement is factored out (Sillars, 1989; Sillars et al., 1994). Shapiro and Swensen
(1969) also found that spouses overestimated how much they knew about their partners and, conversely, how much their
partners knew about them. Finally, several studies support Icke's (1993) conclusion that people lack metaknowledge
regarding their own empathic accuracy. For example, various measures of self-reported empathy did not predict
empathic accuracy based on Icke's thought-recall procedure (Ickes, Stinson, Bissonnette, & Garcia, 1990). Furthermore,
subjects' confidence in their empathic accuracy did not correlate with their actual empathic accuracy in simulated clinical
interviews (Marangoni, Garcia, Ickes, & Teng, 1995) or in marital interactions (Thomas et al., 1995). Thomas et al. also
found that less educated spouses were more confident but less accurate than more educated spouses when predicting their
partner's thoughts. This may indicate that confidence impedes under-
 
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standing. Noller and Venardos (1986) looked at a similar process, but from a reverse anglethat is, the confidence of
spouses that their messages were being understood versus confidence in one's understanding of the other. This research
showed that the sender's confidence predicted accuracy of encoding and decoding among high marital adjustment
couples, but not among low adjustment couples.
The characteristics of interpersonal communication contribute to the insensitivity often shown toward ambiguity and bias.
Even simple exchanges require numerous coordinated decisions in real time (Bavelas & Coates, 1992). The complexity of
communication virtually requires an unquestioning stance toward routine inference, because it is not possible to
consciously attend to more than a tiny percentage of the inferences and decisions involved in interpersonal
communication without constant disruptions and digressions in the flow of conversation (Bavelas & Coates, 1992;
Fletcher & Fincham, 1991; Kellerman, 1992). Thus, cognitive processing of communication is generally "geared to
achieving the greatest possible cognitive effect for the smallest possible processing effort" (Sperber & Wilson, 1995, p.
vii), as suggested by the "cognitive miser" metaphor for social cognition. In an occasional instance, people adopt a much
more self-reflective and questioning stance toward communication. However, this primarily occurs during intervals
between interactions, when the pace of activity has slowed. Furthermore, there is generally little chance that meanings are
re-evaluated subsequent to interactions, once an interpretation has been supplied (Scott et al., 1991).
A second consideration is that all communication requires intentionality attributions because, as we have said, formal
coding rules alone are not sufficient to determine a speaker's meaning. Intentionality attributions are made so routinely as
a condition of all communication, that these attributions are largely experienced as unmediated observations. Thus,
language use conditions individuals to make automatic intentionality attributions.
A third factor contributing to subjective certainty is a lack of feedback regarding the occurrence of misunderstanding.
Misunderstanding is mostly benign and does not lead to any overt difficulty, therefore, it remains latent. Furthermore, the
informal criteria used to assess understanding in communication are not exacting. People do not seek complete
understanding of others; rather, they seek a partial understanding that is adequate for their own interaction goals. As has
been said, there are even cases in which people are motivated to preserve misunderstanding, as in the case of positive
illusions that are relationship-enhancing or negative perceptions that are self-serving (see Ickes & Simpson, 1997,
Murray & Holmes, 1996, Thomas & Fletcher, 1997).
 
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The tendency to regard communication with certainty is not problematic in and of itself, rather it becomes problematic in
certain contexts, for example, when ambiguous, negative inferences about pragmatic intent are framed in the same
unequivocal terms as routine, semantic inferences. In this respect, problems do not arise because of maladaptive
processing strategies, but, because normative strategies are extended to inappropriate contexts. The same tendencies that
generally provide a functional basis for managing the complexity of interaction most of the time become maladaptive at
other times because they short circuit the formation of more flexible and reflective communication strategies.
Narrative and Rhetorical Properties of Perception
A final point about the interpersonal context of perception is that perceptions reflect the goals and requirements of
particular communication episodes. Interpersonal perceptions are not passive, detached observations, but rather accounts
that are constructed to manage and cope with a complex and involving stimulus. These accounts are constructed for the
benefit of both self and others. Other people and their reactions influence accounts either tacitly, as in the case of
imagined dialogues that go unexpressed, or directly in the event that accounts are actually expressed to the partner or to
third parties. Thus, communication (whether imaginary or real) helps to shape interpersonal perception.
Taking this argument a step further, particular types of communication episodes are expected to encourage or inhibit
understanding. Some communicative activities encourage "other-centeredness," for example, affinity-seeking,
comforting, reminiscing, and playing. In these instances, goals are met through perspective taking and convergent
thinking. However, different demands apply in contexts in which individualistic goals (e.g., self-justification or self-
assertion) dominate. In such contexts, communication reinforces divergent thinking. Although this point is admittedly
speculative, there seem to be at least two situations in which communication is expected to polarize interpersonal
perceptionsindividual storytelling and interpersonal argument.
The first case involves situations in which people develop stories about their relationships for the benefit of real or
imagined third parties. This appears to be a recurring, involving, and psychologically significant context, as suggested by
the considerable body of recent literature concerned with personal narratives about relationships (e.g., Burnett, McGhee,
& Clarke, 1987; Coupland & Nussbaum, 1993; Harvey, Orbuch, & Weber, 1992). Furthermore, this literature generally
affirms a long-standing observation that people mostly provide highly selective personal narratives, that are greatly
simplified in the interests of maintaining consistency and coherence.
 
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Although it is possible to explain how elements are selected for stories in mostly psychological terms (e.g., script-driven
encoding or memory), it is likely that selectivity has a social basis as well. Because narratives are developed for the
purpose of relating personal experiences to an audience, narratives show responsiveness to the requirements of effective
storytelling (i.e., the implicit standards held about a good story). Furthermore, the requirements of the storytelling
situation encourage individuals to embellish certain details at the expense of others. For example, in order to be
understandable, a story should be coherent; that is, it should put events in sequence, define the principal characters
clearly, and explain motives. Great selectivity is necessarily involved in organizing stories into an unbroken sequence of
cause and effect, that sometimes extends over many separate acts and interaction episodes. In order to engage and hold
the listener's attention, a story should be both simple (i.e., it should have an uncomplicated plot line, highlight important
details, and avoid tangents) and dramatic (i.e., it should build suspense and emphasize extreme or surprising elements).
Numerous details are dropped and other elements recruited to enhance the interest value of stories. In order to receive the
listener's approval, a story should be plausible, (e.g., it should rely on a familiar plot structure and employ socially
acceptable explanations).
Weiss' (1975) study of marital separation provides an illustration of how personal accounts of relationships are shaped by
criteria similar to these. Weiss noted that the individuals he interviewed generally constructed simple, highly selective
stories about their separation that provided a convenient and socially acceptable explanation. Development of a coherent
account seemed to facilitate adaptation to separation and divorce partly by restoring a sense of predictability, but also by
meeting the social demands of situations in which the account came into play. In such a case, personal narratives are
probably tranformed over time, becoming streamlined with repeated tellings and increasingly capitalizing on the elements
that affect listeners favorably. As a consequence, the independently developed narratives of two ex-spouses from the
same marriage may tell entirely different, unrelated stories (Weiss, 1975). This difference reflects not only the
psychological perspective of the individual telling the story, but also the relationship he or she forms with various
audiences.
Although independent development of relationship narratives should exaggerate differences in interpersonal perception,
Berger (1992) noted that the joint rendering of accounts increases the likelihood of mutual understanding by making the
elements explicit. However, this principle does not apply in all cases. The difficulty is that individual narratives are often
hard to reconcile, so jointly authored accounts can be fragmented and incoherent (Burnett, 1991, Gergen & Gergen,
1987). One study my
 
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colleagues and I conducted (Sillars, Burggraf, Yost, & Zietlow, 1992) revealed wide variation among married couples in
the degree of integration and continuity of relationship themes from one speaker to the next during their conversations.
Some highly interdependent couples (based on separate measures of marital ideology and satisfaction) offered completely
integrated accounts in which they reiterated and elaborated on the same themes (even completing one another's speaking
turns). However, other, more autonomous spouses mostly offered separate, fragmented accounts that were frequently
interrupted and often unrelated to the previous speaker. In such cases, the joint rendering of stories simply motivates
further development of separate narratives.
The second context in which communication is expected to contribute to misunderstanding is interpersonal argument. In
some respects, arguments increase understanding in the same manner as joint storytelling, (e.g., by making perspectives
explicit or by stimulating convergent, jointly constructed arguments; see Canary, Brossmann, Brossmann, & Weger,
1995). However, in some circumstances, construction and rehersal of arguments leads to a more extreme and one-sided
perception of relationship issues (Cloven & Roloff, 1991). In part, this reflects the general tendency to make self-serving
attributions when self-esteem is threatened (e.g., Bradley, 1978). In addition, there are rhetorical influences on
interpersonal perception, which are cognitive and communicative demands of the interpersonal setting in which
arguments occur.
Again, it is important to consider what people are doing in the situationthat is, developing, expressing, defending,
supporting, and refuting arguments. These goals have a number of potential consequences, for example: (a) thoughts
about the relationship might be dramatized and sharpened, reflecting a person's efforts to achieve maximum persuasive
effect; (b) commitment and certainty may increase as a consequence of efforts to defend one's position; (c) ambiguous
messages and other information might be selectively interpreted in a way that favors personal arguments; (d) evidence, in
the form of past relationship events, might be selectively remembered, based on how the examples serve persuasive
goals; and (e) metaperceptions about the partner's opinions and intentions might be represented in simplified or distorted
terms (as in the ''straw man" fallacy of argument), thereby, making it easier to refute or dismiss criticism. Thus, certain
devious misunderstandings assist the maintenance of a particular line of argument.
Such egocentric thinking is not inherent to effective argument; in fact, perspective-taking ability may increase an
individual's persuasive competence (e.g., O'Keefe & Sypher, 1981). However, the cognitive demands of communication
during argument limit one's ability to take the perspective
 
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of others. Perspective taking requires temporary suppression of one's own perspective, which is especially difficult in a
stressful and cognitively demanding environment (Ickes & Simpson, 1997). Interpersonal arguments impose complex
cognitive demands on the individual, requiring simultaneous consideration of shifting issues, relationship concerns, and
argument tactics, with no allowance for leisurely consideration of alternative perspectives. Thus, thought processes can
be monopolized by the effort to bolster personal arguments.
One further consequence of rhetorical demands on perception is that considerable mulling often takes place as a carryover
from previous arguments and as an effort to bolster one's position in anticipation of future episodes. As Cloven and
Roloff (1991, 1993, 1995) showed in their research, mulling often has the effect of making perspectives on conflict more
extreme, particularly when people anticipate a future interaction in which they primarily convey rather than receive
information. Arguments sometimes erupt at the beginning of interaction episodes "for no apparent reason" because
considerable priming has already taken place in the form of silent rehersal (Berger, 1992, p. 44). When an argument
ensues with little objective provocation and escalates rapidly, this is a sign that one or both parties have previously been
carrying on the argument internally. Because this internal dialogue is apt to take place on very uneven terms, mulling can
be a significant source of misunderstanding; for example, one person might be oblivious to the source of the partner's
brooding and taken completely off guard by their sudden expression of strong feelings (Berger, 1992).

Misunderstanding Relationship Conflicts

Although misunderstanding in human relationships is mostly covert and benign, there are clear exceptions to this trend in
the case of relationship conflicts. Every mediator, councelor, or family therapist realizes, of course, that communication,
interpersonal perception, and conflict management are interconnected. Conflicts are nearly always seen differently from
the perspectives of different parties. In a bitter dispute, perceptions become so diametrically opposed that constructive
communication is impossible without some initial softening of perceptions and reframing of the situation. Furthermore,
perceptions of conflict are not merely opposed, but they often depict entirely different conflicts from the point of view of
either party. In this sense, relationship conflicts are often one-sided affairs, in which the parties neither participate in the
same issues nor observe the same sequence of events.
 
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Again, characteristics of the communicative context help to account for misunderstanding and selectivity of interpersonal
perception. In a previous publication, a colleague and I suggested that ambiguity, confusion, and disorganization are
important, basic features of relationship conflicts (Sillars & Weisberg, 1987). For example, there is often considerable
ambiguity regarding the source of conflict. Serious relationship conflicts are difficult to isolate or define objectively and
they are multilayered, involving different issues at different levels of abstraction. A vague sense of dissatisfaction over
core relationship issues (such as affection, equity, or respect) may have a rippling effect, creating conflict on many
specific topics (Morton, Alexander, & Altman, 1976). Characteristically, relationship conflicts are manifested through
discussion of these symptomatic issues (Hocker & Wilmot, 1991), adding to further confusion about the source of
difficulty. In addition, the process of communication during serious relationship conflicts often lacks coherence. For
example, discussions may lose focus and ramble across a variety of issues, conventional rules of conversation are
frequently violated, and the mixed motives of the parties (e.g., the simultaneous urge to maintain lash out and to maintain
composure) sometimes leads to schizophrenic-like communication, such as alternation between confrontation and denial
of conflict (Sillars & Weisberg, 1987). Thus, relationship conflicts present a confusing stimulus field, that further
increases the likelihood that interpersonal perceptions reflect idiosyncratic and self-serving elements.
In the following section, I suggest some ways that individuals selectively monitor and interpret communication during
family conflicts. This section is based on preliminary results from two recent studies, in which my colleagues and I
analyzed online thoughts about communciation, which were elicited through video-assisted recall.
The Studies
In the first of these studies, married couples discussed a salient marital conflict and then individually viewed videotapes
of the discussion. The spouses were prompted every 20 seconds to report whatever thoughts or feelings they recalled
having during the discussion. Because the instructions were nondirective, these data reveal spontaneous attributions about
communication. We coded the recall data using a detailed, inductively-derived set of categories that was designed to
reveal the content of reported thoughts and feelings as descriptively as possible. Hereafter, I refer to this as the Marital
Interaction Project (MIP) study, following the title of the larger project (Leonard & Roberts, 1996). The larger project
was an experimental study of the effects of alcohol on marital communication in
 
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physically aggressive and nonaggressive marriages. I base my observations here on an analysis of 73 couples who were
not affected by the alcohol treatment (Dun, Sillars, Roberts, & Leonard, 1996).
In the second study, my colleagues (Ascan Koerner, Mary Anne Fitzpatrick, and Amy Kampen) and I video taped 50
families (i.e., mother, father, and adolescent child) while they discussed parent-child conflicts. We again elicited video-
assisted recall of the interactions from individual family members, but in this case, each person was prompted to report
what s/he was thinking and what each of the other family members was thinking at regular intervals in the discussions.
The methods were adapted from the protocol developed by Ickes and his colleagues (see Ickes & Tooke, 1988; Ickes,
1997). At the time of this writing, we have not completed formal coding of these data, but I comment here on some
characteristics evident from a qualitative reading of the transcribed thoughts. I refer to these data as the Wisconsin study
(after the location of the research).
There seem to be three main trends in the online perceptions of communication in these studies, which help to account
for misunderstanding of relationship conflicts. These trends are: actor-partner differences in the way communicative
intentions are assigned, selective monitoring of different elements of the communication process, and limited complexity
of thoughts associated with communication.
Attributing Communicative Intentions
Previous research on cognition in relationship conflicts has given considerable attention to attributions about
responsibility, causality, and personality (see Canary, Cupach & Messman, 1995; Fincham & Bradbury, 1991; Retzinger,
1991). The reasons for this emphasis are obvious. Blame and other attributions often inflame conflicts and become the
explicit focus as conflicts evolve and digress. At the same time, abstract attributions are preceded by an intermediate level
of inference, which has received much less attention. At a level below abstract attributions, interactions are understood in
terms of pragmatic meanings, intentions, and strategies; for example, whether a person is presumed to be apologizing,
accusing, avoiding, or lying.
The MIP data provide some indication of how often people spontaneously engage in both forms of attribution. Abstract
attributional analysis was frequently evident in these reports; for example, the thoughts often revealed admission or
denial of responsibility for problems as well as negative attributions about the causes of the partner's behavior. Still, these
direct examples of attributional analysis collectively comprised only about 7% of the codable thoughts. More typically,
attributions of blame or
 
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responsibility were implied by the disparaging tone of other inferences. Attributions about the communication process
were quite common. Over one fourth (28%) of the codable thoughts referred to communicative intentions and strategies
(i.e., what either person was seen as doing in the interaction), whereas another 10% of the thoughts were other appraisals
of the communication process (such as thoughts about the progress or lack of progress being made in the discussion).
Just as other studies documented actor-partner differences in attributions of blame and responsibility for conflicts, the
MIP data revealed strong differences in communicative intentions attributed to self (as actor) versus the partner. Spouses
often reported thinking that the partner was being confrontive (e.g., by dominating the floor, being inflexible, and
distorting and exaggerating to prove a point). Spouses were much less likely to think of their own behavior as
confrontive and when they did it was mostly cast in positive or self-justifying language (e.g., "I was basically calling her
bluff," or "This is when we really get into it . . . when she's not making sense and I tell her"). Similarly, spouses were
twice as likely to think that the partner was avoiding the issue (e.g., through withdrawl, topic shifting, stonewalling, or
lying) than they were to think that their own communication was evasive. Spouses frequently construed their own
communication as a form of constructive engagement (i.e., as an effort to discuss issues in a collaborative and open
fashion). They rarely described their partner's communication in these same terms, although they sometimes attributed
collaboration to both people (e.g., "At that point . . . we were compromising").
Abusive marriages had a particularly slanted view of the communication process. The spouses in physically aggressive
marriages attributed more avoidance to their partner, less avoidance to self, and more constructive engagement to self,
when compared with the nonaggressive spouses. Both husbands and wives in physically aggressive marriages often saw
themselves as making a frustrated effort to communicate constructively with an evasive partner. Ironically, observer
coding of communication in aggressive marriages indicates that these relationships are characterized by high rates of
negativity and negative reciprocity on the part of both spouses (Burman, Margolin, & John, 1993; Cordova, Jacobson,
Gottman, Rushe, & Cox, 1993). An analysis of the MIP discussion data also supported this conclusion (Leonard &
Roberts, 1996). Although this suggests a clear discrepancy between observer and insider coding of the interactions, there
is probably a connection between these perspectives as well. That is, the incompatible images of communication held by
different spouses probably contributes to the mutually escalatory behavior seen by observers. Of course, these data do not
resolve complicated issues about the causes of marital violence; however, they partly account for the apparent
communicative incompe-
 
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tence of aggressive relationships (see Feldman & Ridley, 1995; Sabourin & Stamp, 1995).
An additional feature of these reports about communication is their narrative structure. This aspect is not documented in
any formal analysis that we have performed to date, but anecdotally, the construction of incompatible subjective
narratives seems to underlie some cases of escalating conflict avoidance and confrontation. For example, in one case in
which the couple discusses the husband's drinking, the wife has a series of related thoughts; the husband knows he has a
problem, but he will not accept it. Until he accepts it, they cannot work it out; he never wants to talk about it. He is
always changing the topic and making it into a joke; he needs to wake up, he will not look at her because he knows she is
right; she is sick of his tactics and may move out to make him understand. At the same time, the husband constructs a
different scene; he drinks because he wants to, not as an escape. He loves her, even though she is overly critical,
insensitive, and needs to relax. He does not want to get into a deep argument and thinks that bickering is a waste of
breath, she is getting offended for little reason and is trying to upset and intimidate him; she resorts to name calling
because she knows that he is right. In a different discussion characterized by escalating confrontation, the husband thinks
that his wife does not really care about the conversation, that she just wants to argue and verbally attack him, that she
intentionally distorts and exaggerates, and that she knows he is right. The wife thinks that the husband gets angry for
little reason, takes everything personally when she is just telling the truth, he does not like to hear the truth; and
therefore, he will not listen and is trying to cut her off.
There are certain notable features in these examples. First, there is an overall coherence to each person's thoughts.
Spouses seem to experience their own interactions, not in terms of isolated thoughts, but as a connected chain of events
leading toward a particular outcome. In many cases, these outcomes are seen as highly predictable. In fact, the repetition
of behavior is a prominent theme in the thoughts that we coded (e.g., "She gets like this at least every day," "He's like a
never ending road," and "We can talk for hours like this and it never gets resolved"). Second, each person falsely
assumes that the partner shares the same bedrock perceptions of reality (e.g., "She knows I am right") and attributes the
difficulty to the partner's motivated distortions (e.g., "he does not like to hear the truth''). There seems to be a sense that
the truth is so obvious, it cannot be constructed otherwise. Third, the narratives are both separate and interdependent.
They are separate in the sense that the concurrent thought lines have very few overlapping elements (i.e., they tell
different stories), but are interdependent in the sense that they are interactively cued and mutually
 
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reinforcing. For example, in the first couple, the wife's narrative provides a frame for assimilating and reacting to specific
cues linked to the husband's withdrawal (e.g., the meaning of his jokes and topic shifts), whereas the husband's narrative
likewise furnishes an interpretive frame for the wife's assertive behavior. The result is a mutually escalatory demand-
withdraw sequence that further reinforces the original attributions of each person (see Watzlawick, Weakland, & Fisch,
1974).
Selective Monitoring of Communication
Misunderstanding in relationship conflicts often seems to result from differential monitoring of the stimulus field. In
short, people are usually not thinking about the same thing at the same time, so they assign meaning to the behavioral
stream using different constructs. This is quite evident from the Wisconsin study. There are numerous cases of
misunderstanding in these data, but only an occasional instance in which the direct perspective reported by one family
member actually contradicts the metaperspective of another (e.g., the wife thinks her husband is too critical with their
son; according to the husband, they both agree that their son is too sensitive). More often, direct perspectives and
metaperspectives are simply irrelevant to one another (e.g., the wife wants more help from her husband with housework;
he assumes that she is thinking about their son's lack of responsibility). As suggested earlier, this sort of mutual
irrelevance is encouraged by the complexity of issues in relationship conflicts and the different levels of analysis
potentially employed.
A specific type of selectivity results from focusing attention on particular actors (i.e., on self, partner, or the relationship)
during interactions. Results from the MIP study suggest that the degree of self-focus is gender related. In an interesting
reversal, wives in this research were more likely to think about their partners rather than themselves, whereas husbands
were more likely to think about themselves than about their partners. In effect, both husbands and wives were thinking
about the husband most of the time. Wives were also much more likely to report thinking that their partner was not
understanding them, which suggests that wives were more sensitized to the partner at the level of metaperspectives as
well as direct perspectives.
Another form of selectivity results from differential monitoring of content and relationship aspects of communication. A
frequent situation occurred in both studies in which one person was more sensitized to relationship-level meaning,
whereas their partner attended primarily to the overt topic of discussion (e.g., the husband is thinking about band practice
and the wife is thinking that he does not listen to her). Some authors
 
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propose that selective monitoring of content and relationship meaning is also gender-related. For example, Scott et al.
(1991) suggested that women tend to store representations of conversations in a "relationship bin," whereas men may
think about conversations more in terms of the issue being discussed. Acitelli and Young (1996) also suggested that
women think more frequently about relationships than men.
An interesting question to consider at this point is how heightened monitoring of the relationship might affect mutual
understanding. On the one hand, a certain sensitivity to the relationship is presumably necessary in order to sense
impending difficulties, track areas of probable misunderstanding, and make adjustments in communication. On the other
hand, an exaggerated state of relationship vigilance might cause individuals to assign additional, idiosyncratic meaning to
ambiguous cues.
There are some indications from the literature on marital violence that abusive spouses might be hypervigilant toward
relational meaning. For example, Sabourin and Stamp (1995) found that abusive couples engaged in frequent relational
digressions when they were asked to describe a typical day, whereas nonabusive couples stuck to a more literal
interpretation of the task. Other authors speculated that aggressive husbands are particularly sensitive to any affront to
self-esteem (see Feldman & Ridley, 1995) and that they tend to view their interactions as a struggle for relational
dominance (Dutton, 1988; Rouse, 1990). The MIP data did not show evidence of these tendencies, although this might be
partly because the sample excluded severe cases of violencewhere marital violence is more apt to be strategic (i.e.,
"instrumental" rather than "expressive"; see Feldman & Ridley, 1995). The spouses from aggressive marriages in the
MIP study were actually less mindful of the communication process than nonaggressive spouses. That is, the aggressive
couples had fewer thoughts about the progress of the discussion and about communicative strategies or intentions.
Interestingly, the aggressive husbands also had fewer thoughts about the issue under discussion than the nonaggressive
husbands, suggesting that they were less mindful about communication in general, including both content and
relationship aspects. It may be that abusive husbands lack involvement in communication, or possibly, these individuals
might alternate between cognitive withdrawal in some situations and extreme vigilance and reactivity in others. This
matter deserves further study.
Complexity of Inferences About Communication
Although selective attention in communication is unavoidable, it is possible to calibrate and adjust for differences in
perception by shifting to a
 
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higher metalevel, that is, by anticipating how the partner is processing the interaction. Yet, how frequently and deeply do
people reflect on the perspectives of others during conflicts?
In the MIP study, we found very little indication of spontaneous, complex perspective taking. Inferences about the
partner were often global and one-sided, showing little differentiation of perspectives, minimal documentation in terms
of specific details, and a lack of hedging or qualification of inference even with strong, chancy attributions. These
characteristics particularly described negative attributions about the partner (e.g., "I'm thinking he's just making a lot of
excuses," "She was trying to push my buttons," "Lying, he's lying," ''She's going to pick at anything she can to convince
me," and "She ain't even paying attention to what I really said"), but many neutral and positive attributions also showed a
lack of differentiation. Explicit metaperspectives (i.e., thoughts about how the partner was interpreting the situation) were
rare. Furthermore, in the few explicit metaperspectives that we found, the perspectives attributed to the partner were
sometimes undifferentiated and simplistic (e.g., "He knows that's a lie," "She knows I'm sick of talking about this," or
"He thinks he's right and I'm wrong"). As suggested earlier, spontaneous interpersonal perceptions are often framed with
certainty and show little self-reflective attention to potential sources of bias.
Although the MIP study showed little evidence of spontaneous perspective taking, most people do not seem to have great
trouble providing metaperspectives on relationship conflicts when they are prompted to do so. In the Wisconsin study
(where we directly asked family members to report what others were thinking), they generally provided metaperspectives
without difficulty and only occasionally reported that they could not predict what others were thinking or feeling. The
complexity of these reports is another matter, however, because metaperspectives reflect a variety of inferential
processes, including reliance on self-knowledge and stereotypes rather than cognitive decentering (see Thomas &
Fletcher, 1997).
There seem to be two trends with respect to the complexity of metaperspectives in the Wisconsin study. First, direct
perspectives generally appeared more complex than metaperspectives. Even when there was understanding (i.e., a rough
match between one person's direct perspective and another's metaperspective), metaperspectives were often stripped
down by comparison with direct perspectives. A general explanation is that self schemata are, as a rule, more complex
and accessible than partner-schemata (Scott et al., 1991). In addition, the greater elaboration of direct perspectives
reflects the perceiver's efforts at encoding arguments. This is suggested by the manner in which
 
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metaperspectives tend to be stripped down. Metaperspectives often convey the general sentiments of others, but omit
contextualizing information, such as the partner's rationale for his or her direct perspective (e.g., the father recognizes that
his son does not want to spend time with the family but does not know why). The omitted information relates to the
partner's self-justifications or persuasive arguments, but not to the perceiver's own goals. In some cases, omission of
contextualizing information in metaperspectives represents hostile reframing of another's direct perspective, whereby the
partner comes to appear simplistic, naive, or rigid (e.g., "He thinks that every time we do a favor for someone, they owe
us a favor" or "He is wondering how much he can get away with"). In such cases, any overlap between direct
perspectives and metaperspectives is superficial and masks a deeper discrepancy.
Although in most cases direct perspectives appear more complex than metaperspectives, there appear to be frequent
exceptions in parent-adolescent relationships. Specifically, parental metaperspectives about their adolescent children were
often overly rich and embellished by comparison with adolescent direct perspectives. This situation reflects heightened
vigilance of parents due to the distancing behaviors of adolescents. In addition, children at this stage often vacillate
between sophisticated, adult-like patterns of social reasoning and more concrete and egocentric patterns that typify earlier
stages of development (Kidwell, Fischer, Dunham, & Baronowski, 1983). Because adolescent perspectives often present
a confusing, moving target for parents, parents may in turn make overly rich assessments of some adolescent messages.
Another general trend evident in the Wisconsin study is that family members appear to use their own direct perspective
as a basis for understanding the perspective of others, either by assimilation (i.e., projection of one's own perspective to
others) or contrast. Furthermore, there may be a generational basis to projection and contrast tendencies in family
interactions. Quite often, parents predicted that they shared the same thoughts as their spouses. Quite often, they were
misled by this assumption. On the other hand, it was curious how frequently parents expected their children to express
disagreement, resistance, and resentment, even in cases where children were privately agreeing with their parents (e.g.,
the daughter is thinking that she should have finished her work earlier; the father assumes that she is thinking up
excuses). Despite being rather analytic about their children, it seems that parents may tend to overgeneralize differences
based on episodic parent-adolescent conflicts. As much anecdotal experience also suggests, generational and
developmental differences between parents and adolescents make this a particularly confusing and difficult context of
interpersonal perception.
 
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Conclusion
Every social situation involves many suppositions about what other people think, feel, know, expect, and intend. These
suppositions are so commonplace that, as a practical matter, they are only occasionally questioned or tested. At the same
time, our understanding of other people is tenuous, given the private nature of subjective experience and inherent
limitations of human communication. There is an ironic contrast between the seeming transparency and great difficulty
sometimes associated with communication, particularly in close relationships. As Retzinger (1991) noted: "Because
language has a common surface and private base, it is both very easy and very difficult for people to understand one
another" (p. 10).
We are used to thinking about misunderstanding in a certain wayas a temporary problem that occurs particularly in
unfamiliar situations where we lack the basic implements of understanding, such as mutual knowledge, common
background, or a shared code. However, misunderstanding is more appropriately seen as a normal state that occurs in
varying ways and degrees in all communicative situations.
Several features of the interpersonal context of perception help to explain the persistence of misunderstanding in close
relationships. First, familiarity increases knowledge of another person, but erodes objectivity. Second, communication is
characterized by multiple goals and levels of meaning. These complexities account for the inherent and strategic
ambiguity of communication, which is particularly felt in the case of relationship conflicts. The complexity of issues and
confusing structure of relationship conflicts invite even greater selectivity of inference. This, in turn, is manifested in
such areas as actor-partner differences in attributions for communication, differential monitoring of self versus partner,
and varying degrees of relational vigilance. Third, the complexity of online communication requires an unquestioning
stance toward most inferences. This normative tendency is frequently extended to contexts where it is nonadaptive. For
example, online thoughts about the partner may be undifferentiated and show minimal perspective taking. Fourth,
interpersonal perceptions are simplified and sharpened in response to narrative and rhetorical goals in communication. In
relationship conflicts, individuals may interpret one another's communicative behavior based on separate but
interdependent narratives. Metaperspectives are also stripped down in a manner that serves the perceiver's efforts at
encoding arguments. In sum, the persistence of misunderstanding in close relationships relates to the complexity and
ambiguity of interpersonal communication on the one
 
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hand, and, the certainty and simplicity of most interpersonal perception on the other.

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4
Who's Up on the Low Down: Gossip in Interpersonal Relations
Marianne E. Jaeger
Temple University
Anne A. Skelder
Alvernia College
Ralph L. Rosnow
Temple University
Why is gossip like a three-pronged tongue? Because it destroys three people: the person who says it, the person who
listens to it, and the person about whom it is told.
The Babylonian Talmud
This proverb highlights the role of gossip in the dark side of relationships. Gossip has the potential to destroy reputations.
What is more interesting is that it has the potential to destroy the relationships among the gossip producer, the recipient of
gossip, and the target of gossip. Gossip's characterization as a moral problem received much attention from philosophers
and theologiansboth ancient and modern. Its characteristic as a social problem is inferred from the numerous treatises
about decorum that condemn gossip as well as anthropological studies that document sanctions against the telling of
unfounded stories about others. Its potential to destroy
 
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affords those with little power to wield a dangerous sword. In the words of Spacks (1985), "Like the notion that taking a
photograph of someone endangers his spirit, the view that saying something bad has the force of doing something bad
wells from pre-rational depths. . . . Anyone can invoke the dangerous magic of language; a weapon for the otherwise
powerless, a weapon (as many have noted) usable from dark corners" (p. 30).

Gossip's Negative Reputation

The Middle Ages seemed a particularly gossipy time, and censure of gossip was equally rampant. According to Schein
(1994), this censure was influenced by Biblical writings that warned against slander and revealing secrets through gossip
as well as those writings in the New Testament that placed gossip among transgressions such as malice, envy, and deceit.
Gossip's idle character aligned it with one of the seven deadly sinssloth. Furthermore, gossip appeared as the enemy of
love in the literature about courtly love; the ideal lover was discreet, did not gossip about his love to his friends, and even
sought to protect his love from becoming the target of gossip by others. Gossip, in the form of an allegorical figure, the
"evil tongue," aroused jealousy through the telling of false tales and hence, came between the lover and his beloved. The
subject matters of gossip were diverse, but the most popular topic appeared to be love, especially extramarital love
affairs. The structure of medieval society, with its dependence on oral communication for news and its strict codes of
conduct, appeared to reinforce gossip's potency; "Gossip was often accepted as truth, and, given the strict codes of
behavior, gossip could destroy people's reputations and their position in society" (p. 151). In these times, sanctions for
gossiping were severe, ranging from dunking stools, stocks, and other forms of public shaming to masks of torture, which
projected iron spikes into the wearer's mouth in order to stop her loose tongue (Emler, 1994).
Although legalized sanctions against gossip mercifully disappeared, some writers note that the moral prohibitions against
gossip remain essentially intact. Some suggest that gossip as a moral problem derives from its unwarranted invasion of
privacy, although as Thomas (1994) pointed out, gossip can be about information that is widely known. Bok (1984) noted
that each of us develops standards, however inarticulate, for the type and amount of gossip we may find tolerable; thus,
gossip becomes a moral problem for each of us when those boundaries are crossed. Bok singled out three categories of
gossip that are particularly reprehensible: gossip that
 
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breaches confidences, gossip known to be false, and gossip that is unduly invasive. It is these three categories that define
gossip and distinguish it from mere idle chatter. Bergmann (1993), for example, quoted a German definition of gossip
that equates it with "nasty, deprecatory, ugly talk about one's neighbor" (p. 26).
English language definitions of gossip focus more on its idle or trivial nature. To gossip is "to talk idly, mostly about
other people's affairs, to go about tattling" according to The Oxford English Dictionary (Simpson & Werner, 1989, p.
700). The American Heritage Dictionary defines gossip as "trifling, often groundless rumor, usually of a personal,
sensational, or intimate nature; idle talk" (Morrs, 1981, p. 569). Some condemn gossip for its triviality. Heidegger (1962),
for example, felt that gossip was far too trivial to help us to understand the profundities of human existence. What is
more, he argued, it subverts such understanding by leading he or she to believe they already know it all. Bok (1984)
noted that gossip is morally questionable because its trivial tone demeans the lives of its targets.
A gossip is stereotypically a woman, and it is a common perception that women gossip more maliciously than do men
(Tebbutt, 1995). An historical analysis of changes in the meaning of gossip shows how its more pejorative connotations
developed as gossip became identified as a largely female activity (e.g., Rysman, 1977; Tebbutt, 1995). Traditionally
powerless in society, women were paradoxically feared because of their gossiping tendencies, as evidenced by the old
Welsh saying "Be she old, or be she young, A woman's strength is in her tongue" (Tebbutt, 1995, p. 19).

"Techniques of Rehabilitation"
The previous phrase comes from Emler (1994), who is one of a number of philosophers, linguists, and social scientists
who have attempted to address the question of whether gosssip's sullied reputation is warranted. Although their
techniques differ, each attempts to attack one or more facets of gossip's negative connotations in order to repair the good
name of gossip.
Ben-Ze'ev (1994) provided a philosophical analysis of the premise that gossip is an intrinsically valuable activity. Like
intellectual thinking that is motivated by creativity or intellectual curiosity rather than by external rewards such as money
or academic publications, gossip typically derives its value from the activity itself and not from achieving external ends.
Ben-Ze'ev highlighted the role of gossip in satisfying certain basic human
 
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personal and intimate details of the lives of others so that we can better understand and control our own lives.
Participation in gossip also satisfies a so-called tribal needthe need to be accepted by an exclusive group characterized
by intimate and affective ties. Although he acknowledged that gossip is not always a virtuous activity, Ben-Ze'ev
attempted to show that it is not a vicious activity either.
Sociolinguistic studies examining gender differences in speech and styles of conversation highlight positive dimensions
of gossip. These studies serve to portray women's talk in a more favorable light as well as focus on the positive
consequences of gossip. Some studies suggest that men tend to focus on the task at hand, whereas women pay more
attention to relationships (cf. Eagly, 1987). Others characterize men's conversation as individualistic and competitive,
whereas women's conversation is more cooperative and mutually supportive (e.g., Spender, 1980). Gossip, with its focus
on personal details of individuals' lives, is seen as an essential component of communication style characterized by
cooperation, mutual support, and collective activity and is used to establish and maintain friendships among its
participants (Tannen, 1990).
Several authors provide sociopsychological analyses of gossip's functions and conclude that, far from being trivial, gossip
serves useful functions interpersonally and intrapersonally. Gluckman (1963) suggested that gossip is a means of
maintaining the unity of social groups. Gossip maintains group unity by discouraging individuals from violating group
norms and standards through fear of public sanctions. Gossip unites a group against other groups or even the larger
society in a number of ways. According to Gluckman, the right to gossip is a hallmark of group membership. Outsiders
should not join in gossip, for to do so can result in rebuke. On the other hand, gossiping with an outsider is a sure sign
that one has been accepted as a member with all the rights and privileges that membership entails.
Levin and Arluke (1987) suggested that gossip is used to enhance self-esteem or status in a group, to obtain information
that serves our need to evaluate our opinions and beliefs through comparison with others in a reasonable and nonpainful
way, to establish or maintain social cohesiveness within a group, to define ambiguous or anxiety-laden situations, or
more simply, to entertain or relax. Rosnow and Georgoudi (1985) outlined three general (although not mutually
exclusive) functions of gossip that operate at the individual and interpersonal levelto inform, to influence, and to
entertain. Emler (1994) suggested that the reputational inquiry accomplished through gossip is a complex and
sophisticated instrument of adaptation in our social world.
 
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Empirical Studies of Gossip

Researchers examined several aspects pertaining to gossip's negative reputation, but our knowledge about gossip and
gossiping is still relatively rudimentary. Researchers determined that we engage in gossip quite frequently as adults
(Emler, 1994; Levin & Arluke, 1985) and that gossip is considered one of the most salient social processes among
children and adolescents (Gottman & Mettetal, 1986). The information conveyed in gossip is rarely totally negative,
although there may be times in our lives when we focus more on the negative. In a study examining the quantity, content
and tone of instances of gossip overheard among college students, Levin and Arluke (1987) found that negative and
positive information were equally likely to be discussed in gossip and that nearly half of the information was neither
clearly negative nor positive. The evaluative tone of gossip appears to change with age. Gottman and Mettetal (1986)
found that among 8- to 12-year-olds, gossip contained primarily negative evaluations, whereas among adolescents, gossip
contained both positive and negative evaluations of the same person. Although gossiping is a frequent activity, there are
individual differences in the tendency to gossip. Nevo, Nevo, and Derech-Zehavi (1994) found that the tendency to
gossip was related to social desirability, gender, and vocational choices. Individuals with a self-reported tendency to
gossip were lower in need for social approval, were more likely to be women, and were more interested in people-
oriented professions.
The paucity of empirical research on gossip may be due in part to its secretive nature. According to Sabini and Silver
(1982), we all gossip, but feel that we should not; therefore, we gossip discreetly. Rosnow and Georgoudi (1985) pointed
out that feelings of privacy and protection are necessary preconditions of gossip. The empirical investigator faces the
difficult task, then, of finding ways of sampling gossip or finding individuals who are willing to talk about their gossip or
the gossip of others. Levin and his associates accomplished the former by systematic eavesdropping of conversations
overheard on a college campus or by sampling newspaper gossip columns (Levin & Arluke, 1987). Emler (1994), using a
diary record approach, collected information about who talks to whom and about what. Nevo et al. (1994) developed a
Tendency to Gossip measure by which individuals indicate the frequency with which they engage in gossip-like
behaviors, such as talking to friends about other people's successes, their love affairs, and so forth. Each of these methods
deals with the discreet nature of gossip in different ways, but vary in the extent to which they can
 
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reflect other essential preconditions for gossip, namely the broader context in which gossip can flourish.
Sociability is another precondition of gossip (Rosnow & Georgoudi, 1985). Gossip rarely occurs among strangers or
among acquaintances whose relationship is characterized by aloofness. Thus, methods for studying gossip should be
usable in situations characterized by a level of amiable familiarity among potential gossipers and gossipees. A third
precondition for gossip is a common frame of reference (Rosnow & Georgoudi, 1985). This shared frame of reference
includes shared values and attitudes as well as access to background knowledge in which a particular piece of gossip is
understood.
In our research, we sought to examine characteristics of gossipers and the people about whom they gossip because of the
conflicting portraits of the gossipmonger that exist in the literature. We chose to study gossiping within a college sorority
because many of the characteristics of sororities provide the preconditions for gossip to occur. Sororities are exclusive
groups of young womensituated within the wider university populationthat are characterized by a sense of community
and communality. A shared frame of reference is virtually assured because women are likely to choose a sorority with
goals and values similar to their own and because the process of pledging further socializes them in its prevailing values
and goals. Sororities are usually small enough that everyone knows everyone else, and their relative exclusivity provides
privacy and protection from the hurly-burly of life in a large urban university.
Who Gossips About Whom?
Attempts in the literature to describe the typical gossiper result in seemingly conflicting portraits. For example, there is
the social isolate, the least popular in a group, who suffers from feelings of worthlessness, social anxiety, and need for
esteem from others and who gossips in an attempt to make friends or to gain attention or esteem from others (cf. Ben-
Ze'ev, 1994; Levin & Arluke, 1987). Conversely, gossipers have been characterized as sensitive, curious, and social-
minded, whereas it is the nongossiper who is uninterested in the affairs of others and who has no friends to gossip with or
about (Levin & Arluke, 1987). Thus, on the one hand, the gossiper has few or no relationships and may pass on
malicious information about others to raise his or her own worth in the eyes of others. On the other hand, the gossiper is
social-minded and involved in the lives of othersone hardly likely to take joy in destroying the reputations of others.
Although these disparate claims seem intuitively correct, there is, unfortunately, no direct evidence to support them.
 
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Who are the targets of gossip? The subjects of gossip columns, talk shows, or ''people in the news" features on television
and in print concern either the everyday aspects of the lives of famous people or extraordinary events in the lives of
ordinary people (cf. Levin & Arluke, 1987). Ben Ze'ev (1994) suggested that the targets of gossip are the subjects of
envy. It is almost a given that the target of gossiping is someone familiar to its participants, but little else is known about
the person others are discussing behind his or her back.
The goals of this research were to examine empirically the characteristics of gossipers and of their targets. Are they
people for whom relationships may be problematic and who gossip in order to gain entry to the possibility of
relationships or are they individuals who enjoy the company of others and for whom gossip might be an integral part of
their sociability? Both of these views seem intuitively correct and by examining their characteristics empirically, we
confirm or modify these seemingly disparate portraits.
Method
After making an initial contact with a service sorority at a large public university, we received permission from the
membership to conduct a study of "communication networks." The 36 members served as participant informants; they
provided information about each other and about themselves by means of confidential or anonymous questionnaires in
two phases. They were of traditional college age (from 18 to 22 years old), and many of them lived on campus, either in
the sorority house or in campus dormitories, whereas others lived off campus.
Phase 1. The first questionnaire, which was filled out anonymously, asked the participants a number of questions about
others in the sorority. The goals in this first phase were (a) to identify who gossiped about whom and thus, to determine
which individuals most frequently engaged in gossip and who was frequently targeted in gossip by others; (b) to explore
the cliques or friendship patterns in the sorority and thereby, determine the relative popularity of each person in the
sorority; and (c) to determine the extent to which each person was viewed as likable or not. The 15 individuals who
returned the first questionnaire were considered anonymous participant informants to help us determine the extent of
gossiping in the sorority.
The respondents were first presented with a list of 143 adjectives and a list of all members of the sorority. They were
asked to indicate next to the name of each person, those adjectives that best described that person.
 
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No minimum or maximum number was suggested. Next, respondents were asked to indicate others in the sorority that
each member tended to gossip about; they were instructed to say "no one" if they felt a particular person did not engage
in gossip about others. As a check on the extent to which each person gossiped, respondents were also asked to indicate
each person's general gossiping tendencies on a scale from 0 (never, or hardly ever, gossiped) to 100 (all of the time).
Then respondents were asked to name, for each member, her closest friends in the sorority. In general, respondents were
instructed to make a best guess in the case of uncertainty or to indicate if they were clearly uncertain about a particular
member's gossip target(s) and/or closest friends. In the final portion of the questionnaire, respondents were asked to
define gossip in their own words, being as thorough or brief as they wished. The latter part of the questionnaire was
designed to tap commonsense understandings of the nature of gossip and its potential for enhancing or destroying
relationships.
The first questionnaire was distributed at a monthly meeting of the sorority after one of the authors introduced the study
as an investigation of "communication networks" and obtained the necessary informed consent from the participants.
They were instructed to complete the questionnaire later in the privacy of their own rooms and then to return the
questionnaire, sealed in the envelope provided, to an enclosed box located in the sorority house within 2 weeks. When
respondents dropped off the first questionnaire, they collected the second questionnaire, which was to be mailed to the
investigator in the stamped, addressed envelope enclosed.
Phase 2. The second questionnaire consisted of measures of various personality traits that were thought to characterize
gossipers. Need for approval by others was measured by the Marlowe-Crowne Social Desirability scale. The higher the
score, the more strongly motivated the respondent is to seek the approval of important others, and it follows that a
person's behavior should be directed toward that aim (Crowne & Marlowe, 1964, p. 39). Self-esteem was measured by
Rosenberg's (1965) Self-Esteem scale. Rosenberg's validation of the scale suggested that individuals with low self-esteem
were characterized by self-rejection, self-dissatisfaction, and self-contempt, and they were more likely to be on the
periphery of a social group, a portrait similar to the nature of the gossiper as hypothesized by others. The Taylor
Manifest Anxiety scale (MAS) was used to measure trait or chronic anxiety (Taylor, 1953).
Rosnow (1991) and his colleagues demonstrated a consistent relationship between anxiety and awareness of a rumor
(Anthony, 1973) or propensity to transmit a rumor (Jaeger, Anthony, & Rosnow, 1980). Rumor is a phenomenon that
shares some features in common with gossip,
 
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although it is problematic whether results pertaining to rumormongering also apply to gossip. Respondents were asked to
identify themselves on the second questionnaire so that their responses could be related to information obtained in the
first phase. However, they were assured that their responses would remain completely confidential.
Participants were sent reminder letters 2 weeks after the second questionnaire. In addition, one of the investigators
attended the next monthly meeting to ask all the members to complete the second questionnaire even if they had not
completed the first one. Thirty-one members returned the second questionnaire for a return rate of 86%.
Derived Measures. Various measures were derived from the initial questionnaire, most of which involved obtaining
scores for each member by taking the mean ratings provided by the 15 informants. Specific details of these derived scores
are given in Jaeger, Skleder, Rind, and Rosnow (1994), so only brief descriptions are given as follows:
Likability. The 143 adjectives used to describe each member were personality-trait words that were given likableness
ratings in a previous study (Rosnow, Wainer, & Arms, 1969). Likability scores for each sorority member were
determined by obtaining the mean of likability ratings of the words used to describe each member by the anonymous
informants; these obtained means ranged from -6.9 (most unlikable) to 26.0 (most likable).
Gossipers. A gossiping tendency score for each member was derived from the informants' reports about who gossiped
about whom. This involved obtaining the mean number of other people (averaged across the informants) each person was
reported to have gossiped about in the sorority. The distribution of gossiping tendency scores was then divided into
terciles in order to categorize members as high, moderate, or low gossipers; cut points were slightly adjusted in order to
ensure that persons in a group were more similar to other group members than to persons in neighboring groups. As a
consequence, 14 people were classified as low gossipers, 13 as moderate gossipers, and 9 as high gossipers.
Gossip targets. From the same information just discussed, another score was derived to reflect the propensity for each
member to be the target of gossip. This reflected the mean number of times (averaged across informants) each person was
named as a target of gossip. Each member was classified into a high, moderate, or low target group, using close
approximations of tercile points; again, these cut points were adjusted slightly to ensure that persons in a group were
more similar to each other than to those in neighboring groups.
Popularity. Based on reports from the informants on who was friendly with whom, it was possible to determine how
many members each person chose as a close friend and how many times each member was chosen as a close friend by
others. These data also formed the basis of a sociogram that allowed us to determine the cliques or smaller friendship
groupings in the sorority.
 
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Results
The following describes the characteristics of the gossip and of the targets of gossip. Next, a fine-grained analysis of who
gossips about whom is provided. In the Discussion section, we touch on certain themes about gossip in the context of
interpersonal relations, as raised by the sorority members.
Gossipers. We explored differences among high, moderate and low gossipers on the basis of personality characteristics,
such as need for social approval, self-esteem, and anxiety, and on indicators of popularity, such as perceived likability,
number of close friends, and number of times one was chosen as a close friend. In some cases, specific linear
relationships were hypothesized. For example, inasmuch as gossip has a perjorative connotation, we expected the
inveterate gossiper to be lower in social desirability as well as a less likable individual. We also expected the gossiper to
be more anxious in view of such results in earlier studies of rumormongers.
A simple way to test such hypotheses is to compute contrasts using t or F; the specific linear predictions are represented
by lambda weights of 1, 0, -1 or -1, 0, 1. A convenient method for evaluating the success of such contrasts relative to the
sum of squares (SS) for the noncontrast between-groups effect is simply to square the correlation between the group
means and their respective lambdas, which gives the proportion of between-groups SS explained by a given contrast
(Rosnow & Rosenthal, 1996a, 1996b). We get an intuitive idea of how well each contrast did by comparing this value
with that theoretically associated with any randomly chosen contrast. In the case of three levels (low, moderate, and high
anxiety, for example), the expected value is 1/2 df or 50% of the between-groups SS would be accounted for by a
randomly chosen contrast.
The expected negative linear relationship between gossiping and social approval accounted for 84% of the between-
groups SS. However, a much better prediction (accounting for virtually all the between-groups SS) would have been that
low gossipers were higher in need for social approval (M = 19.67) than moderate (M = 14.91) or high gossipers (M =
14.29), with F(1,29) = 5.74, and p = .02, and approximate effect size r = .41. The effect size of the comparison between
scores of low and high gossipers was r = .36 with t(27) = 2.01, and p .03 (one-tailed).
None of the comparisons on self-esteem was revealing (all Fs < .25), and the linear contrast accounted for merely 7% of
the SS between groups. The mean self-esteem scores for the high, moderate, and low gossipers
 
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were 31.00, 31.64, and 30.75, respectively. Anxiety as a linear predictor of amount of gossiping accounted for 71% of the
between-groups SS. Virtually all the variability (99%) between groups could be accounted for by the difference between
high gossipers (M = 17.14) and the low (M = 12.33) and moderate (M = 12.09) ones, with F(1,27) = 5.16, and p = .03,
effect size r = .40.
Those who gossiped least were rated more likable (M = 18.76) than moderate (M = 12.75) or high gossipers (M =
10.25), with F(1,33) = 6.85, and p = .01, accounting for 95% of between groups SS. None of the groups was rated
negatively, however. Moderate gossipers appeared more popular than high or low gossipers. Those who engaged in
gossip to a moderate degree were reported as having more close friends (M = 3.08) than high (M = 2.11) or low
gossipers (M = 1.64), with F(1,33) = 8.24, and p = .007, accounting for 95% of the between-groups SS.
Targets of Gossip. In this group there was a strong correlation between the tendency to gossip and the frequency with
which an individual was named as a target of gossip (r = .76). Because of this high correlation, we expected relationships
similar to those previously discussed between the tendency to be named as a target of gossip and the various personality
and popularity measures.
Those least frequently named as targets of gossip were also higher in need for social approval (M = 19.73) than moderate
(M = 15.63) or frequent targets (M = 14.36). This linear relation, with F(1,27) = 4.85, and p = .04, accounted for 92% of
the between-groups SS. There were virtually no differences in self-esteem among the three groups (M = 31.64, 30.38,
31.18 for low, moderate, and high targets, respectively). Contrary to the findings when levels of gossiping were
compared, the tendency to be a target of gossip was unrelated to anxiety (M = 13.09, 13.88, 13.27 for high, moderate,
and low target groups, respectively).
Those most frequently targeted were perceived as less likable (M = 8.90) than moderate (M = 15.68) or low targets of
gossip (M = 19.37), with F(1,33) = 10.80, and p = .002, accounting for 97% of the between-groups SS (approximate
effect size r = .50). Being targeted by others was related to the number of close friends: those most frequently targeted by
others had more close friends (M = 2.85) than moderate (M = 2.64) or infrequent targets (M = 1.33), with F(1,33) =
4.52, and p = .04, accounting for 85% of the between-groups SS.
Gossiping and Friendship. Even though a sorority shares common goals and values, smaller groups or cliques of friends
are likely to occur. From a sociometric matrix, which reflects who chooses whom as a friend, we were
 
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able to discern a number of more-or-less interconnected clusters of friends or cliquesdefined as groups where three or
more individuals mutually choose each other as friends (cf. Festinger, Schachter, & Back, 1950)and a variety of
friendship pairs. Two of the cliques stand out in sharp contrast when the members' gossiping tendencies are taken into
account. One group is not connected with others in the sorority, and members of this clique rarely gossiped or were
named as targets of gossip. A second group is connected to at least two other identifiable cliques in the sorority, and
persons in this group were among the most gossiping and gossiped about members of the sorority.
We wanted to determine whether members gossiped about close friends, women who were not friends, or both. To
determine who gossiped about whom, specific targets of gossip for each person were identified based on the informants'
responses on the phase 1 questionnaire. Gossipers and their targets who could be reliably identified are indicated in Fig.
4.1, which superimposes people's gossiping patterns on their friendship choices. It appears that individuals were as likely
to gossip about their close friends as about other members of the sorority.

Fig. 4.1.
Gossipers and their targets of gossip in relationship to friendship choices. Note. Dashed lines indicate gossip targeted at
close friends, short outward arrows indicate gossip targeted at non-friends, and short inward arrows indicate members
targeted by nonfriends.
 
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Discussion
In our initial attempt to study gossip, we chose to study a sorority, because such a setting appeared to provide the
necessary conditions for gossip to flourish. We recognized that we had to tread carefully, as we were entering a closed
system of ongoing relationships and we did not want to disturb their sense of community and communality. As a result,
there were questions about their gossiping that we did not ask. Our attempts to respect the members' sense of privacy
prevented us from finding out some of the "juicier" aspects of their gossiping, and our choice of setting limited the
generalizability of our findings. Nonetheless, we believe our findings shed some light on the seemingly disparate portraits
of the gossiper found in the literature.
We found that frequent gossipers were not as likable as those who rarely gossiped or whose gossiping tendencies fell
somewhere in between. We asked informants to provide likability ratings before they reported on others' gossiping
tendencies, so it is unlikely that these less favorable ratings resulted from being labeled as a gossip. Although those who
frequently gossiped were also perceived less favorably, it is not the case that they suffered from a lowered self-esteem.
Indeed, the self-esteem of members in this sorority was uniformly high. Contrary to the conjecture that individuals gossip
to gain favor from others, the frequent gossipers in this study had less of a need for social approval than others who
gossiped less frequently. Frequent gossipers were more anxious than their other members; this finding is reminiscent of
research indicating that anxious individuals were more likely to pass on rumors about unknown others (Jaeger et al.,
1980).
This research seems to suggest that relationships are fundamental for gossiping activity. People need people to gossip
with and about. Our sociometric analysis suggested that gossiping activity largely emanated from a clique of the most
popular (but not necessarily the most likable) members of this sorority. This clique appeared to contain the movers and
shakers, that is, the more active and influential members of the sorority. These individuals were among the most active
gossipers and the most frequently gossiped about. In general, however, moderate gossipers had the most close friends,
whereas infrequent gossipers had the fewest. In this sorority, gossipers were also more likely to be targets of gossip. In
general, therefore, characteristics of the targets of gossip were similar to those of gossipers. Women who were frequent
targets of gossip were somewhat less likeable than those less frequently targeted, but their self-esteem was not any lower
than others and their need for social approval was less than that of others. Frequent targets seemed to have more close
 
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friends in the sorority and were also more frequently chosen as close friends by other members.
At the end of the questionnaire, we asked our respondents to describe what gossip meant to them. Although only 9 of the
respondents provided an answer, their responses reflect the complex and often contradictory nature of gossip and its role
in interpersonal relationships. About half of the comments reflected the negative side of gossip, either explicitly or
implicitly. For example, gossip, as explicitly negative, is "when someone talks about another person in a negative way"
or when it is defined as "catty remarks." Gossip is implicitly negative because it involves talk about others "behind their
backs." The remaining comments reflected gossip as basically a harmless activity that could sometimes "get out of hand";
for example, "some people definitely come close to the line between innocent gossip and malicious intent to destroy a
reputation.'' Gossip is a kind of social glue, something that can be used to establish and maintain close personal
relationships. For example, it is "hanging out and talking." In the words of one respondent, "What else do you call it
when a group of friends get together and talk about what happened that day or a funny story?"
Our theoretical and empirical analyses suggest that the nature of gossip is complex. Like any action directed toward
another, it has the potential to hurt its target and thereby, disrupt close personal relationships. Furthermore, the reputation
of its source is questioned and further upsets interpersonal relationships. Nonetheless, gossiping is a common activityone
that appears to be enjoyed by its participants. In addition, it serves useful functions for the individual and the
establishment and maintenance of close personal relationships. Although gossip is an element of the dark side of
relationships, it also plays a positive role in the establishment and maintenance of close personal ties.

References
Anthony, S. (1973). Anxiety and rumor. Journal of Social Psychology, 89, 91-98.
Ben-Ze'ev, A. (1994). The vindication of gossip. In R.F. Goodman & A. Ben-Ze'ev (Eds.), Good gossip (pp. 11-14).
Lawrence: University of Kansas Press.
Bergmann, J.R. (1993). Discreet indiscretions: The social organization of gossip. New York: Aldine DeGruyter.
Bok, S. (1984). Secrets: On the ethics of concealment and revelation. New York: Vintage.
Crowne, D.P., & Marlowe, D. (1964). The approval motive: Studies in evaluative dependence. New York: Wiley.
Eagly, A.H. (1987). Sex differences in social behavior: A social-role interpretation. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum
Associates.
Emler, N. (1994). Gossip, reputation, and social adaptation. In R.F. Goodman, & A. Ben-Ze'ev (Eds.), Good gossip, (pp.
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Festinger, L., Schachter, S., & Back, K. (1950). Social pressures in informal groups. New York: Harper & Row.
Gluckman, M. (1963). Gossip and scandal. Current Anthropology, 4, 307-316.
Gottman, J., & Mettetal, G. (1986). Speculations about social and affective development: Friendship and acquaintance
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(pp. 192-237). New York: Cambridge University Press.
Heidegger, M. (1962). Being and time. New York: Harper & Row.
Jaeger, M.E., Anthony, S., & Rosnow R.L. (1980). Who hears what from whom and with what effect: A study of rumor.
Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 6, 473-478.
Jaeger, M.E., Skleder, A.A., Rind, B., & Rosnow, R.L. (1994). Gossip, gossipers, gossipees. In R.F. Goodman & A.
Ben-Ze'ev (Eds.), Good gossip (pp. 154-168). Lawrence, KS: University of Kansas Press.
Levin, J., & Arluke, A. (1985). An exploratory analysis of sex differences in gossip. Sex Roles, 12, 281-286.
Levin, J., & Arluke, A. (1987). Gossip: The inside scoop. New York: Plenum.
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Nevo, O., Nevo, B., & Derech-Zehavi, A. (1994). The tendency to gossip as a psychological disposition: Constructing a
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Rosenberg, M.J. (1965). Society and the adolescent self-image. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Rosnow, R.L. (1991). Inside rumor: A personal journey. American Psychologist, 46, 484-496.
Rosnow, R.L., & Georgoudi, M. (1985). Killed by idle gossip: The psychology of small talk. In B. Rubin (Ed.), When
information counts (pp. 59-73). Lexington, MA: Heath.
Rosnow, R.L., & Rosenthal, R. (1996a). Computing contrasts, effect sizes, and counternulls on other people's published
data: General procedures for research consumers. Psychological Methods, 1, 331-340.
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Rosnow, R.L., Wainer, H., & Arms, R.L. (1969). Anderson's personality trait-words rated by mean and women as a
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Rysman, A.R. (1977). How gossip became a woman. Journal of Communication, 27, 176-180.
Sabini, J., & Silver, M. (1982). Moralities of everyday life. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
Schein, S. (1994). Used and abused: Gossip in medieval society. In R.F. Goodman, & A. Ben-Ze'ev (Eds.), Good gossip,
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Clarendon Press.
Spacks, P.M. (1985). Gossip. New York: Knopf.
Spender, D. (1980). Man made language. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
Tannen, D. (1990). You just don't understand: Women and men in conversation. New York: Morrow.
Taylor, J.A. (1953). A personality scale of manifest anxiety. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology, 48, 285-290.
Tebbutt, M. (1995). Women's talk? A social history of `gossip' in working-class neighbourhoods, 1880-1960. Aldershot,
UK: Scolar Press.
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III
BRUISING
 
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5
Patterns of Conflict in Personal Relationships
Susan J. Messman
Daniel J. Canary
Pennsylvania State University
Therefore, there are five traits that are dangerous in generals. Those who are ready to die can be killed; those who
are intent on living can be captured; those who are quick to anger can be shamed; those who are puritanical can be
disgraced; those who love people can be troubled.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War, 1991
Written approximately 2,000 years ago, The Art of War presents principles of conflict that are profitably applied to
personal relationships as well as international wars (Sun Tzu, 1991, p. viii). A primary presumption of The Art of War is
that war should be waged in cool detachment of one's emotions. Accordingly, the above traits found to be dangerous in
generals cannot be found in good generals: "Good generals are otherwise: they are not committed to death yet do not
expect to live; they act in accord with events, not quick to anger, not subject to embarrassment. . . . Their action and
inaction are matters of strategy, and they cannot be pleased or annoyed" (p. 66).
This chapter suggests that everyday social actors resemble bad generals when it comes to managing interpersonal
conflicts. By focusing on patterns of conflict interaction, we see that people often respond to each other in
 
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ways that reflect anything but cool, detached, strategic orientations. Instead, conflict behaviors more frequently reflect
emotional responses sometimes designed for self-defeat.
We examine patterns of conflict-interaction behavior that represent the research in close, personal relationships. In
particular, we emphasize normative patterns of conflict that were found in family and romantic relationships. This focus
is mandated by the research that has, in the past 30 years, paid the most attention to romantic couple conflicts, followed
by family conflict interactions (e.g., Raush, Barry, Hertel, & Swain, 1974). We mostly rely on quantitative analyses,
although we realize that several good efforts were offered that delineate conflict patterns with conversational and
discourse-analytic techniques (e.g., Alberts & Driscoll, 1992; Grimshaw, 1990). We do not review some of the intriguing
and important work concerning violence, paradoxes, or codependence. Instead, we seek to uncover the everyday and
sometimes subtle interactions that occur in conflict episodes (Canary, Cupach, & Messman, 1995).
Before we review the research findings, however, we attempt to clarify the nature of conflict patterns and how they are
studied (see also Watt & Van Lear, 1996). Using this discussion of conflict patterns, we then review the literature on
conflict patterns in families and romantic relationships. Finally, we conclude by summarizing the implications of the
literature regarding the dark side of interaction in close relationships.

Defining and Detecting Conflict Patterns

Defining Conflict Patterns
In accordance with most of the empirical literature, we define patterns as recurring act-to-act sequences of interaction
behaviors (Raush, 1965; see also Street & Cappella, 1985). Most of the research on conflict patterns relies on the act-to-
act behavioral sequence (also called lag one, first-ordered lags, or the interact, these simply refer to two consecutive
behaviors or turns). In our view, a first-order sequence represents a fundamental, sufficient, and elegant unit for depicting
patterns. Researchers often operationalize recurring as a minimum of 5% of the first-ordered sequences observed
(Gottman, 1979). As the literature review that follows shows, first-ordered lags provide a powerful quantitative means to
represent patterns of conflict behavior that demarcate satisfactory from unsatisfactory relationships. Indeed, some studies
found that first-ordered patterns are more predictive than higher ordered sequences of relational quality
 
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(e.g., Margolin & Wampold, 1981). Although conflict patterns entail more complexity than first-ordered sequences
detect, it is not necessary to go beyond first-ordered lags to remain in the province of patterned communication.
Moreover, some scholars identified very complex derivations of first-ordered sequences to describe higher ordered
patterns (e.g., Gottman, 1979; Revenstorf, Hahlweg, Schindler, & Vogel, 1984).
In addition, researchers frequently use the term reciprocity when discussing conflict sequences and patterns. Schaap
(1984) proposed three types of reciprocity: (a) simultaneity-based reciprocity refers to partners' immediate reciprocation
of behaviors (e.g., partners frowning at each other); (b) baserate-based reciprocity refers to each party's frequency of
behavior in a given interaction (e.g., sums of husband's and wife's cooperative behaviors in a 15-minute discussion); and
(c) contingency-based reciprocity concerns how one person's behavior follows the partner's preceding behavior.
Naturally, a person can respond to the partner without acting in like manner, thus creating different types of message
exchanges. As Rogers (1981) stated, reciprocity refers to the way that people communicate with each other in terms of
symmetrical and complementary exchanges. According to Rogers, symmetrical and complementary response types were
first used by Bateson (1935) to describe how group members mirror each other's behavior in a symmetrical fashion (e.g.,
proposal-counterproposal) or to provide the implied preferred (complementary) response (e.g., proposal-agreement to the
proposal). In this manner, when we speak of patterns and sequences, we do not presume reciprocation of behavior,
although many sequences are symmetrical.
Detecting Conflict Patterns
Baserate-based analysessuch as frequencies or correlationsonly provide indirect glimpses of conflict patterns. For
example, Birchler, Vincent, and Weiss (1975) showed how positive and negative behaviors surface within an overall
picture one obtains from the frequencies of pleasant or unpleasant activities. Likewise, correlations provide some sense of
the degree to which couples engage in patterns of responses. However, a problem emerges when studies that employ
baserate-based analyses are based on self-report data. Self-reports of conflict behaviors offer biased estimates of
interaction baserates to the extent that people's perceptions distort their interaction behaviors (Canary et al., 1995).
Observational studies are preferred in examinations of conflict patterns, even for baserate-based studies.
Baserate-based measures do not fully represent interaction patterns (Cappella, 1987). The reciprocation of behavior in
sequence differs from
 
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the general give and take that people sometimes reference in discussions of reciprocity (Gottman, 1979). In addition,
correlations of frequencies do not reveal the emergence of behavior in real time; the emergence of one's conflict behavior,
in light of the partner's behavior, contains information beyond the mere occurrence of behavior, as most information and
systems theorists argued (e.g., Bateson, 1979; Gottman, 1979). Likewise, Vuchinich (1984) argued that "linguistic and
sequential organization are central in determining the social constitution and impact of utterances" (p. 217; see also
Circourel, 1980; Goffman, 1981; Labov & Fanshel, 1977).
In addition, accounting for sequences of interaction adds explained variance beyond baserate-based measures. For
instance, in a comparison of adjusted and maladjusted children, Raush (1965) reported that approximately 30% of
conversational variance between children was accounted for by the partner's preceding behavior. In a study of marital
interaction, Margolin and Wampold (1981) found that sequential data added substantially more explained variance in
relational quality beyond that accounted for by frequencies alone8% for marital adjustment, 15% for desired areas of
change, 8% for items assessing pleasing spousal behavior, and 15% for items assessing displeasing spousal behavior. The
fact that the sequences were added after the variance due to the baserates (using the same behavioral categories) was
accounted for indicates impressive gains in predictive power. Moreover, to the extent that one conceptually defines
patterns as sequences of behavior, then act-to-act behaviors appear fundamental as well as predictive, even in light of
other predictors (e.g., Billings, 1979). Given the integral nature of act-to-act behaviors to relating, the next two sections
review the conflict literature that focuses on such sequences of behavior in families and romantic relationships.

Conflict Patterns in Family Interaction Research

TV families in the past, such as the Cleavers and the Bradys, were characterized as perfectly happy, interacting in ways
that display love, respect, and support. Certainly, such interactions can be common in families. However, as more recent
television families illustrate, not all family interaction reflects such positivity. The ever-present dark side of family
interaction includes conflict in the form of hostile, aggressive, argumentative, and/or antagonizing behaviors. Indeed,
families probably have more conflict than other social groups (Shantz & Hobart, 1989). Family contexts provide more
frequent opportunities for interpersonal boundary violations than do other personal relationship contexts (Petronio, 1994;
Vuchinich, 1984). Merely living with family members increases the opportunity for all types of interaction, especially
conflict.
 
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People's first experiences with conflict occur with family members. Conflict-interaction behavior represents social
behavior that is learned in the individual's first interactions with parents and siblings and is developed throughout
childhood (Dunn, 1983). Conflict experiences in childhood contribute to the individual's personal and social development
(Shantz & Hobart, 1989). Based on this developmental argument, one particularly dark outcome of conflict in families
occurs when children learn ineffective, inappropriate, dysfunctional, and even violent conflict-interaction behaviors as
part of normal conflict patterns and perpetuate such behaviors in later relationships.
How families manage conflict appears to differentiate healthy families from dysfunctional families. Research supports
the conclusion that dysfunctional families are typified by their relatively rigid patterns of conflict (Doane, 1975). As
Courtright, Millar, and Rogers (1980) noted, research efforts "have seemingly confirmed the notion that normal families
are more flexible in their communication patterns than are abnormal families" (p. 199). In addition, Bochner and
Eisenberg (1987) noted that "healthy families are able to find solutions to their problems that do not escalate the severity
of the problem" (p. 557). Collectively, family interaction provides a rich context for the exploration of the dark side of
relationships (Stafford & Dainton, 1994). Research on patterns of conflict behaviors specifically illustrates the dark nature
of family life.
Although a great deal of research on family conflict exists, Dunn (1983) noted that observational studies of family
conflict interactions are relatively rare and studies of interaction patterns and consequences of patterns are especially rare.
In addition, Shantz and Hobart (1989), in discussing sibling conflict strategies, observed that "few studies to date have
focused on the process by which the siblings themselves resolve their conflicts" (p. 83). Nonetheless, several
observational studies of sibling and parent-child conflict reveal some insight into the nature of conflict patterns in
families. The findings of these studies are reviewed in the following paragraphs. However, two limitations of these
studies require mention. First, the studies are predominantly descriptive and rarely link the interaction patterns to
outcome variables. Second, conflict is broadly defined to include agonistic (i.e., negative) interaction behaviorsattempts to
gain compliance, arguments, oppositional interactions, quarrels, and so forth.
Conflict Patterns Among Siblings
Interactions with siblings constitute at least half of children's family interactions in families with children (Bank & Kahn,
1975; Lawson & Ingleby, 1974). Dunn (1983) observed that 80% of children in the United States and
 
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Great Britain have siblings and that "sibling behavior is of prime importance in the elicitation and maintenance of
aggressive behavior" (p. 799; see also Patterson, 1975; Wiehe, 1990). Dunn and McGuire (1992) cited Rafaelli in noting
that sibling relationships are typified as being more tolerant to conflict yet containing more anger and aggression than
relationships with peers. Vuchinich (1984) found that in conflicts during family dinnertime, siblings did not restrain their
hostility when opposing each other and were likely to be direct versus indirect in their oppositions with each other.
The research on sibling conflict-interaction behaviors appears to support the argument that older children decide what is
done to whom in conflicts with their younger siblings (Shantz & Hobart, 1989). For example, Abramovitch, Corter, and
Pepler (1980) observed 36 pairs of preschool siblings in their homes (see also Abramovitch, Corter, Lando, 1979; Pepler,
Abramovitch, & Corter, 1981). Children's behaviors were coded as agonistic, prosocial, or imitative, and their responses
were coded as well (see Table 5.1). The findings revealed that older children initiated more agonistic behavior. Moreover,
the pattern of responses to agonistic behaviors revealed that older children were more likely to respond to younger
children with a counterattack rather than a submission. Complementing this pattern, younger siblings more likely
responded to agonistic, negative behavior by submitting rather than engaging in a counterattack. Apparently, older
siblings in the preschool age group exert control over their younger siblings by being the primary instigators of conflicts
and by responding more powerfully to agonistic behaviors. The patterns of conflict in these studies revealed that, at least
for preschool children, interactions with siblings reflect unfair complementarity versus symmetry (see Dunn, 1983).
Older children also appear to have the advantage of more sophisticated communication behaviors in conflicts with their
younger siblings. For example, Dunn and Munn (1987) found that older siblings were able to use justifications in their
disputes with their younger siblings, who eventually learned to use justifications as well. Phinney (1986) examined 5-
year-olds' conflict patterns involving a sibling (either olderage 6 to 9(or youngerage 2 to 4) and a peer. The researcher
coded the verbal moves of each speaker following an assertion as either simple moves (counterassertions that simply
rejected, denied, or contradicted the assertion) or elaborated moves (those that provided reasons, explanations, or
justifications for a counterassertion, queried a preceding counterassertion, or in some other way verbally altered the
simple repetitive pattern; p. 50). Consistent with Dunn and Munn (1987), Phinney (1986) found that instances of
elaborated moves increased with the child's age. In addition, 5-year-olds were more likely not to reply to a simple
counterassertion from a younger sibling and not to reply to an elaborated counterassertion from
 
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TABLE 5.1
Behavioral Coding Scheme for Preschool Siblings
Category Definition
Agonistic Behaviors
Physical
Assertive physical contact, specifically, hit, push, pull, shove, kick,
Physical bite, pinch, or pull hair.
aggression
Object Related
A fight over an object.
Object
struggle
Verbal
An order or demand stated with authority in a loud tone of voice, may
Command be accompanied by threatening facial expressions or gestures.
Teasing, name calling, unfavorable judgments.
Insult-
disapproval
Statements of intent to harm, take toys away.
Threat
Telling the mother about the other sibling's wrong doing.
Tattle-tell
Prosocial Behaviors
Give an object spontaneously or on request; let other sibling share an
Give or share object with which child is already playingspontaneously or on request.
an object
Engaging in behaviors that require two individuals; explanations or
Cooperate or physical aid.
help
Asking for something (e.g., a toy)
Request
Verbal statements of approval or admiration of sibling or his behavior.
Praise or
approval
Verbal or physical consolation when sibling is in some way distressed.
Comfort or
reassurance
Positive physical contact, specifically
Physical
affection
Facial expression of laughter or smiling directed at the sibling.
Laugh or
smile
Moving to within .5 m of sibling with no evidence of agonistic intent.
Approach
Imitation
Following sibling to another room or another area in room; performing
the same behavior as sibling within 10 sec (imitation was not recorded
if an act was apparently elicited by the environmente.g., bouncing a
ball); that is, only instances of imitating relatively novel behaviors were
recorded.
Responses
To Agonism
Cry, scream, whine, withdraw, request cessation, give up object, or
Submit obey.
Any direct physical or verbal agonism (following the agonism
Counterattackcategories above).
No change occurs in ongoing behavior as a result of agonistic act.
No response
To Prosocial
Positive acceptance (following prosocial categories above).
Positive
Physical or verbal rejectionhit, push, etc.; "no," "go away," etc.
Negative (following agonistic categories above).
No change occurs in ongoing behavior as a result of prosocial act.
No response
Note: From "Sibling interaction in the home," by R. Abramovitch, C. Corter, and B.
Lando, 1979, Child Development, 50, p. 1000. Copyright © 1979 by The Society for
Research in Child Development Inc. Reprinted with Permission.

 
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an older sibling. Phinney suggested that with a younger sibling, the 5-year-olds did not feel compelled to respond to an
unjustified move, whereas with an older sibling, the 5-year-olds felt intimidated by the older child's knowledge level.
Clearly, age differences among siblings play an important role in the imbalanced enactment of conflict-interaction
patterns. The following sample dialogue provided by Phinney illustrates an apparent power imbalance in a dispute
between an older child (David, age 6 years, 8 months) with his 5-year-old sister, labeled with the codes assigned by the
researcher (A = Assertion, E = Elaborated Move, and S = Simple Move):

(A)David:Remember, this is my tent, isn't it?

(E) And mine. (Considered elaborated because it does not
Judith: contradict the preceding utterance, but rather qualifies it.)
(E) No, I just let you have it, don't I, to share.
David:
(S) It's mine too.
Judith:
(S) No, I just share it with you.
David:
(E) Yes, and when you share it, it's mine with yours. Both together,
Judith: it's ours.
(E) Yes, but I'm in charge here `cause it was mine.
David:
(E) I helped Mummy put it up. Does that matter to you?
Judith:
(S) No. (p. 55)
David:

The preceding dialogue reveals another pattern characteristic of sibling conflict interactions among children. Elaborated
moves were most often followed with elaborated moves by the other child; similarly, simple moves were followed by
simple moves (Phinney, 1986). Apparently, preceding moves greatly influenced how the sibling responded. This finding
coincides with other research indicating that one communicator's verbal behavior limits and, to some degree, determines
the options of another in family conflict situations (Vuchinich, 1984). Vuchinich argued that in conflicts involving the
family unit as a whole, the unmitigated linguistic structure of ''No" is frequently followed with a similarly unmitigated
response. Such connections between interactants' conversational moves were observed in studies focused specifically on
dyadic conflicts between parents and children.
Conflict Patterns Between Parents and Children
In addition to interactions with siblings, interactions with parents often involve conflict. However, much of the research
literature on parent-child interaction focuses on two particular types of conflict. Eisenberg (1992) noted that "traditional
emphases in research on child development . . . define conflict as `parental discipline' or `child non-compliance'" (p. 21).
 
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For example, Rocissano, Slade, and Lynch (1987) examined the synchrony of talk turns between mothers and toddlers
(16- to 20-month-olds) in episodes where mothers were attempting to gain toddler compliance. Rocissano et al. found
that conflict talk turns were connected and patterned in mother-child interactions (see also Phinney, 1986). More
specifically, Rocissano et al. asked mothers to teach their toddlers a tea-party script during a videotaped play session in
the lab. Talk turns were coded as either synchronous (staying on topic with partner's immediately preceding turn) or
asynchronous (initiating a new topic with no mention of partner's topic). The researchers also recorded whether the child
complied with maternal instructions. Rocissano et al. held that compliance was a special case of synchrony. These
authors used the following dialogue to illustrate that the child's turn may be synchronous but not compliant:

Mother:Can you give Mommy some tea?

Child: [Stirring in cream pitcher and holding spoon to mother.]
Mother:No, Mommy doesn't want cream, Mommy wants tea.
Child: [Stirring in cream pitcher and holding spoon to mother] No,
Mommy eat cream! (p. 700)

Using sequential analysis, Rocissano et al. (1987) found that children were more likely to engage in asynchronous turns.
When mothers' turns were synchronous, children were more likely to follow with synchronous turns. Moreover, children
were more likely to comply following a mother's synchronous versus asynchronous turn. Rocissano et al. observed that
"children whose mothers were most flexible in following their children's changing attentional focus were both more
likely to comply with instructions and to maintain dialogic exchange" (p. 702). Flexibility (as illustrated in the following
dialogue) in interaction behaviors is strongly linked to effective conflict management with toddlers. In addition,
successful interactions in terms of compliance are marked by mothers following their child's lead.

Mother: Pour some tea.

Child: [Puts spoon in teapot; holds it there.]
Mother: OK, let's mix the tea. [Demonstrates stirring motion.]
Child: [Stirs in pot with spoon.] (p. 703)

Other research similarly supported the existence of a first-order dependency between child compliance or noncompliance
and the type of parent's verbal control attempt: Positive actions on the part of parents more likely facilitate child
compliance, whereas negative actions more likely facilitate noncompliance (Lytton, 1979; see also Lytton & Zwirner,
1975). Lytton also argued that the parent's behavior in the interaction preceding the verbal control interaction was likely
to influence the child's
 
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response. Lytton (1979) observed disciplinary encounters between parents and 2- and 3-year-old boys to discover
connections between such second-order antecedents and child compliance or noncompliance. The researcher observed the
families in their homes and coded both the interact in which the parent attempts to verbally control the child and the
parent's actions in the preceding interact (see Table 5.2). The child's behavior was coded as compliant, noncompliant, or
neither.
Lytton (1979) found that the second-order antecedents combined with the verbal control in the first-order antecedents
were associated with the child's likelihood to comply. Specifically, the use of physical control in a preceding interact
reduced the likelihood that a child would respond to a command or prohibition with compliance. In addition, positive
action in the preceding interact "boosts the facilitating effect of command-prohibition on compliance but lowers it for
noncompliance" (p. 261). Lytton's findings illustrate that in some cases, a research focus on Lag 1 only causes one to
overlook other aspects of interaction patterns in conflict situations. Nonetheless, in other cases, only the two behaviors
that comprise Lag 1 appear to be connected, and second-order dependencies were not found to be significant.
For instance, Fletcher, Fischer, Barkley, and Smallish (1996) observed neutral and conflict discussions between a mother
and her teenager. Utterances were coded as negative (commands or put downs and defends or complains), positive
(problem solution, facilitates, and defines or evaluates),
TABLE 5.2
Summary of Lytton's Coding Scheme for Parent Behaviors in Disciplinary Encounters
Category Examples/Description
Verbal Control Types
 A direct imperative, positive or negative.
Command/prohibition
"Would you like to . . .?"
Suggestion
Giving a justification for the command or prohibition.
Control with
reasoning
Actions Preceding the
Verbal Control Interact
A slap or physically restraining or restricting.
Physical control
Expression of displeasure, criticism, threat, or a refusal of the
Negative action child's request.
Expression of love or approval, hugging, smiling, playing with
Positive action the child, or complying with the child's request.
Less emotionally loaded kinds of behavior (e.g., neutral speech,
Neutral action handing something other than food to the child, and caretaking
activities).
Note. From "Disciplinary encounters between young boys and their mothers and fathers:
Is there a contingency system?" by H. Lytton, 1979, Developmental Psychology, 15, p.
257. Copyright 1979 by American Psychological Association. Reprinted with
permission.

 
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or neutral talk. Using Markov analyses, the researchers examined both first-order and second-order dependencies. Only
the Lag 1 exchanges were significant. Fletcher et al. explained that "these parent-teen interactions seemed highly flexible
in the course they took over the longer sequence of exchanges, yet they revealed a closely linked contingent relationship
at each exchange in the sequence" (p. 293). Additionally, mothers' behaviors were flexible and positive compared to
teenagers' behaviors. For example, regardless of the teen's comment, mothers were less likely than teens to make negative
comments; Fletcher et al. observed that "a mother was most likely to respond with a positive comment, whereas the teen's
response tended to parallel the mother's comment, negative following a negative, neutral following a neutral, and positive
following a positive" (p. 284). Although when in conflict, both mother and teen made negative comments more often and
positive comments less often, "mothers were still most likely to make positive comments, teens were most likely to make
negative comments'' (p. 285).
These findings, combined with those reviewed earlier in this section, indicate that flexibility in conflict situations is
developed as people mature. Although by adolescence individuals mature in many aspects of their interaction behaviors,
conflict-management interactions appear to require still more maturity (see also Selman, 1980). For example, Vuchinich
(1984) observed that "the older generation transfers more mitigated hostility with vague boundary information. This
pattern describes the relatively primitive social control efforts of children compared with more subtle social control
efforts by the parents, who avoid unmitigated hostility" (p. 231). In addition, the findings of these parent-child studies
illustrate that positivity in conflict situations leads to parent effectiveness in conflicts over compliance and the negativity
of one partner leads to negativity in the other partner. However, a few studies examine parent-child conflict in broader
terms than child compliance or noncompliance.
Eisenberg (1992) argued that child noncompliance is only one type of parent-child conflict and that "children may learn
more about negotiation when mothers are noncompliant than when they themselves fail to comply" (p. 25). The
researcher had mothers audiotape conversations between themselves and their 4-year-olds in natural settings. The
transcribed conversations were coded for spontaneous conflicts (defined as oppositional moves) and the interaction that
immediately followed (see Table 5.3). Eisenberg's findings revealed that disagreements about child compliance
constituted a small portion of mother-child conflict and that mothers both opposed the children more and were more
noncompliant to the child than the reverse.
Similar to other studies of parent-child conflict, Eisenberg (1992) found connections among the utterances and interaction
strategies of participants.
 
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TABLE 5.3
Eisenberg's Coding Categories for Mother-Child Conflict Behaviors
Type of Speech Act of
the Opposed
Utterance
Included direct and indirect requests and prohibitions (e.g., mother
Request for action says, "Why don't you come in and hold my hand?").
Beginning with "Can I . . ." or "Can we . . ."
Requests for
permission
Utterance stated a plan to perform some action (e.g., child says,
Statements of intent "I'm gonna make some more").
Utterance that asserted a proposition (e.g., mother says, "That's a
Statements of fact firefly").
The Topic of the
Conflict
Disputes focused on eating, bathing, and spilling.
Caretaking
Conflicts involved touching objects, possession, and turn taking.
Possession/rights
Disputes focused on hurtful or unkind actions and offensive
Destructive/hurtful behaviors such as making noise, making a mess, or disgusting
behaviors.
Disputes centered on rules about dangerous behavior, politeness
Rules and manners routines, rudeness, not talking baby talk, and references to family
rules.
Conflicts involved demands for aid or independence.
Assistance
Conflicts that did not fall into other categories.
Other
Note. From "Conflicts between mothers and their young children," by A. R. Eisenberg,
1992 by Wayne State University Press.

Specifically, participants were more likely to use reasoning in conflicts with negative affect and in response to a partner's
use of reasoning. Eisenberg surmised that "supplying a reason leads the opponent to take one's position into account" (p.
38). Moreover, the patterns of opposition appeared to indicate that mothers and children were sensitive to the relational
messages implied by utterances. For example, Eisenberg observed that "Opposition to requests for permission and
assertions were least likely to lead to mutual opposition, followed by opposition to requests for action, and finally to
statements of intent" (p. 39). Eisenberg reasoned that certain utterances relegate more power or choice to the partner and
that mothers and children communicated as if they realized such relegations. Specifically, mothers and children tended
not to oppose their partner when the partner opposed a request for permission (an utterance that relegates power to the
partner). On the other hand, the speakers tended to follow the partner's opposition with opposition when the speaker's
original utterance was a statement of intent (an utterance that relegates no power to the partner).
Eisenberg's (1992) findings also illustrate power differences in conflicts between mothers and their young children. For
example, in conflicts where
 
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the mother was noncompliant (versus conflicts where the child was noncompliant), the interaction was less likely to entail
mutual opposition. In addition, when the child was noncompliant, the conflict was less likely to end in a standoff.
Eisenberg also observed that "maternal opposition affected the course of the conflict differently than did child opposition"
(p. 32). When the mother opposed the child, conflict was less likely to ensue than when the child opposed the mother.
Moreover, when the mother's opposition contained an explicit negative, the child was less likely to oppose the mother in
response. Not surprisingly, mothers' behaviors can be characterized as more powerful than children's behaviors.
Yet, a mother's power is not absolute. Children were more likely to follow the mother's opposition with opposition when
the mother did not provide a justification or alternative. Eisenberg (1992) explained that children's sensitivity to reasoned
argument illustrated that the children recognized the social rule that "one cannot `just say no'" in conflict situations with
others (p. 37). Children also appeared empowered in factual disputes; mothers tended to submit to the child. In a line of
research based on social learning principles, Patterson (1979) showed that a mother's punishment of her child's coercion
(e.g., yelling, hitting, or arguing) increases the likelihood that the child will continue using coercion. Ironically, children
using some types of coercion (e.g., showing disapproval and ignoring the parent) eliminated the parent's negative
behaviors more than 50% of the time.
Studies involving the family unit as a whole further illustrate the nature of power in family conflict situations. Vuchinich
(1984) examined Lag 1 sequences of conflict among family members having dinner in their homes. He found that
children did not oppose parents as frequently as parents opposed parents. In addition, children opposed mothers more
often than they opposed fathers. Vuchinich reported that family members rarely followed a father's simple negation
opposition with a similarly unmitigated opposition, whereas they did so more frequently with the mother. The sex
difference in oppositions to parents is found elsewhere. In their review, Paikoff and Brooks-Gunn (1991) noted that sons
increase their forceful behaviors during adolescence and mothers often complement their sons' assertions by acting less
dominant, whereas fathers become more dominant with their sons. One other difference that Vuchinich labeled as a
power difference was that sons tended to oppose parents more often than daughters opposed parents. Clearly, when the
number of participants in the conflict interaction increases, the web of power differences increases in complexity.
Family conflict interaction also increases in complexity in nonpower related aspects when the focus is the entire family
rather than selected
 
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dyads (e.g., mother-child). For example, Vuchinich, Emery, and Cassidy (1988) videotaped family dinner conversations
and coded the verbal conflict defined as oppositional moves (see Table 5.4). The findings illustrate that third parties
affect the conflicts between family members. For example, Vuchinich et al. found that when third parties first intervened
in conflicts with a conflict continuation move, the conflicts were longer than when third parties used other moves first. In
addition, the final outcome of family conflicts varied based upon whether or not a third party intervened such that
submission was less likely and withdrawal was more likely when a third party intervened.
Vuchinich et al. (1988) also found patterns of reciprocity in family conflict. Specifically, when one fighter used a conflict
move, the second fighter tended to respond with a conflict move. Similarly, when a nonconflict strategy was used, the
response was most likely to be a nonconflict move. This latter tendency was also found for third-party responses to
nonconflict moves. However, Vuchinich et al. observed that "third parties tended not to reciprocate conflict moves" (p.
1300).
Moreover, the patterns of reciprocation, combined with the outcomes of such conflicts, illustrate how normal families
diffuse routine and frequent conflicts with flexibility. For example, none of the episodes of reciprocated conflict moves
were very long. Conflicts without third-party intervention contained an average of 3.7 turns. In addition, Vuchinich et al.
(1988) observed that most conflict (64.5%) ended in stand-offs. Hence, although conflict moves tended to be reciprocated
by fighters, such episodes were short-lived and ended with an avoidance strategy. Vuchinich (1987) concluded that
successful conflict management in families entails such strategies as stand-offs to diffuse family disputes. Although
regular use of conflict avoidance tactics is often decried as "unhealthy" by textbooks, avoidance nonetheless represents a
norm of family conflict management. Avoidance also appears to be a popularly used response in romantic relationships.

Conflict Patterns in Research on Romantic Involvements

At this juncture, we examine conflict patterns germane to romantic involvements. We use the term romantic involvements
to reference personal relationships that involve sexual bonds. Accordingly, we examine partners who are married, as well
as those who are dating, engaged, or living together to locate conflict and argument patterns. Similar to families, couples
experience conflict as a routine aspect of relational life. However,
 
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TABLE 5.4
Summary and Example of Third-Party Intervention Coding Categories
Categoy Codes
Sides- (1) identity of opponent; (2) no sides
against
Sides- (1) identity of ally; (2) no sides
with
Role (1) fighter (always two); (2) third party
Fighter (1) conflict continuation; (2) give in; compromise; (3) withdrawal;
move (4) other/neutral
Third- (1) conflict continuation; (2) authority (3) mediation/information;
party
move (4) distraction; (5) noninvention
Outcome (1) compromise; (2) submission; (3) stand-off; (withdrawal)
Example
The following conflict begins when the mother opposes the daughter's plans for
Saturday. Sue and Rita are friends of the daughter who are not present at the dinner.
Column 1 gives the "sides-against" code, column 2 gives the "sides-with" code, column
3 gives the role, and column 4 gives the move type.
1 2 34
D f c M (to There you go again, looking for trouble. You know we're going to
D): Grandma's Saturday.
M f c D (to You didn't say I had to go.
M):
D f c M (to You know what I meant.
D):
D M t c F (to Don't argue with your mother. You're going.
D):
M f c D (to But I've been planning this for weeks.
M):
No Not mS (to Why couldn't she have them over in the morning, then we could
F): go to Grandma's in the afternoon?
S f c D (to You stay outa this. You're just makin'
S):
trouble.
D f c S (to I was trying to help, you jerk . . .
D):
No Not a F: I don't want to listen to this. You two button it.
[2.3 second silence]
No t d M (to Did Mr. Baxter show you that big tomato?
F):
F (to Yeah, wasn't that something?
S)
(This episode is a standoff)
Note. From "Family Members As Third Parties in Dyadic Family Conflict: Strategies,
Alliances, and Outcomes," by S. Vuchinich, R. E. Emery, and J. Cassidy, 1988, Child
Development, 59, p. 1296. Copyright 1988 by The Society for Research in Child
Development. Reprinted with permission. In the example, M = mother, F = father, S =
son, D = daughter, f = fighter, t = third party, c = conflict continuation, a = authority, m
= mediation/information, d = distraction, No = no sides taken.
 
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the routine nature of conflict renders fights, arguments, and confrontations no less hurtful to partners.
Reciprocation of Negative Affect
Although it may appear self-evident, researchers found that dissatisfied partners engage in more negative behaviors
relative to satisfied couples (Gottman, 1979; Schaap, 1984). In terms of behavioral patterns, the research also reveals that
dissatisfied couples reciprocate negative behaviors (Gottman, 1994; Schaap, 1984). Such reciprocation reflects
symmetrical exchanges. For example, the husband's statement, "Now don't say anything to Jack," is symmetrically
reciprocated in the wife's reply, "You just don't say anything to Jill." Such a reciprocation epitomizes transactional
redundancythe extent to which couples find themselves in a conversational rut (Courtright et al., 1980).
Reciprocation of behavior does not necessarily reflect a clear contingency (Sillars & Weisberg, 1987). Reciprocation of
negative behavior is also reflected in negative reactivity (Margolin & Wampold, 1981, p. 555)or instances where a
negative comment is met with an asymmetrical negative response, as in attack-defend sequences (Ting-Toomey, 1983).
The following example illustrates negative reactivity (lines 94-103) as well as behaviors that appear unrelated to each
other (lines 103-108; data described in Mikesell, 1996).

(Couple #17)
94 Well, look at what you did. Look at the scene you made!
Husband
95 Wife Yeah, well you deserved it.
96 No, I didn't . . .
Husband
97 Wife Everybody fights.
98 deserve that.
Husband
99 Wife So . . .
100 No, everybody . . .
Husband
101 Wife Yeah, everybody fights dear. `cause if they don't . . .
102 Yeah, but not in the presence of company. Not when, honey, we had 15
Husband people.
103 Wife See, I'm a very prompt [sic] person. I don't care.
104 But I do.
Husband
105 Wife I knew everybody there.
106 Yes, but I DO.
Husband
107 Wife And most of them was [sic] your family, and I couldn't care what they think
anyway.
108 Well, I do.
Husband
109 Wife Well, I don't!
110 Well, then I shouldn't care what your family thinks.
Husband

 
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In an important study of couple interaction, Billings (1979) compared act-to-act sequences of 12 maritally dissatisfied
couples with 12 maritally satisfied couples. Billings categorized behaviors into one of four types: friendly-dominant;
friendly-submissive; hostile-dominant; and hostile-submissive. Given his initial finding that the effective, friendly-
dominant dimension was more powerful than the dominant-submissive dimension, Billings calculated the ratio of hostile
sequences for both partners from each couple as they enacted two role plays (i.e., one where the spouse acts distant and
one where self acts distant). Results indicated that the dissatisfied couples "make more negative and fewer positive
statements [versus satisfied couples]. . . . Sequential analyses suggest that distressed couples exhibited greater, whereas
nondistressed couples exhibited lesser, reciprocity of negative acts than statistically expected" (p. 374). Also, dissatisfied
couples escalated their sequences of hostility. Billings (1979) reported these findings in point graphs, with each point
indicating the ratio of hostility. This graphic method of representing the progression of act-to-act conflict sequences
remains a popular one (e.g., Gottman, 1994, p. 159). Figure 5.1 represents Billings' comparison of satisfied versus
dissatisfied couples.

Fig. 5.1
Comparison of satisfied and dissatisfied couple conversations in the proportion of hostile messages enacted over time.
Adapted from Billings (1979, p. 374).
 
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Following a review of similar research and forecasting his own findings, Gottman (1979) concluded that the reciprocation
of negative behaviors, such as criticism, complaints, defensiveness, and stonewalling, works against relational
satisfaction and stability. However, according to Gottman (1979, 1994), the reciprocation of positive conflict behaviors,
such as agreement and problem solving with positive affect, does not consistently correspond to relational satisfaction.
Likewise, Schaap's (1984) review indicated that people in dissatisfied couples (vs. satisfied couples) were more likely to
reciprocate negative behaviors. In addition, Schaap found that dissatisfied couples were more likely than satisfied couples
to engage in reciprocations of positive behaviors.
Gottman's Phases of Patterns
As indicated previously, Gottman identified several conflict patterns. He did so by first coding couples' problem-solving
interaction with the Couples Interaction Scoring system (CISS), which is partly derived from The Marital Interaction
Coding system (MICS); for a review of observational coding systems, see Markman & Notarius, 1987. The CISS is
summarized in Table 5.5. The patterns that Gottman identified occur in one of three phasesagenda building, arguing, and
negotiatingwherein couples are
TABLE 5.5
 Summary of the Couples Interaction Scoring System
Agreement. Agreement involves direct agreement, acceptance of responsibility,
AG compliance, assent, and change of opinion.
Disagreement. Disagreement can be explicit, involve "yes-but" answers-(i.e.,
DG initial agreement stating why one disagrees), be offered with a rationale, or be
stated in the form of a command or explicit non-compliance.
Communication talk. CT concerns communication about communication as well as
CT statements directing the discussion to the task or seeking clarification.
Mindreading concerns one's beliefs about the partner's internal statesbeliefs,
MRemotions, attitudes, and the likeas well as explaining or predicting behaviors.
Problem Solving/information exchange refers to instances where one offers some
PS kind of specific or nonspecific) solution is offered or one provides information
about one's beliefs or relational activities.
Summarizing self, which includes statements about one's expressed opinions.
SS
Summarizing other, which includes summaries of the partner or both parties'
SO behavior.
Expressing feelings about a problem involves one talking about a general personal
PF issue or the relationship in particular.
Note: Adapted from Gottman (1979), pp. 82-86, and Notarius and Markman (1981), pp.
114-119.

 
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said to state an opinion, state their agreement or disagreement, and then offer reasons for their positions.
Agenda Building. The agenda building phase contains three act-to-act patterns: Validation, wherein one finds partner
agreement; cross-complaining, which entails the spouse mirroring a complaint; and feeling probe, which involves one
mind reading the partner (i.e., saying what the partner thinks or feels) and the partner agrees or disagrees. As one might
anticipate, validation was more likely in nonclinic couples, whereas crosscomplaining was more likely in clinic couples.
These findings contextualize Alberts' (1988) more specific analysis of complaints. She found that dissatisfied (vs.
satisfied) cohabiting couples more frequently enacted complaints about personal features of the partner, whereas satisfied
couples complained more about behavior. Alberts also reported that satisfied couples (vs. dissatisfied couples) responded
to the partner with agreement (a form of validation). In addition, disagreement following a mind read was more likely in
distressed, clinical couples (Gottman, 1979, p. 115)for example, "You appear really tense and stressed out," to which the
partner responds with, "Well, I'm notI've just had a tough day" (vs. the response, "Well, you may be rightI've had a tough
day").
The arguing phase contains several responses to disagreements, the two most prevalent being disagreement and
statements of one's own feelings. According to Gottman (1979), the primary discriminator of satisfied from dissatisfied
couples in this phase resides in the manner in which metacommunication (i.e., talk about talk) is offered. If said with
positive affect, metacommunication functions to promote satisfaction; conversely, if said with negative affect,
metacommunication appears to frustrate partners (Gottman, 1982).
Finally, the negotiation phase involves contracting sequences, which are terminated by agreement, and counterproposal
sequences, which involve spouses exchanging proposals or solutions. According to Gottman (1979), satisfied couples are
more likely to reach consensus on what to do, whereas dissatisfied couples disagree with each other's suggestions for
solutions and offer counterproposals:
Whereas clinic couples are likely to mirror one another's codes, for example, PF PF and PS PS sequences,
nonclinic couples intersperse agreement and negative affect chains by some editing process that intercedes
between nonverbal behaviors while listening and nonverbal behaviors during message delivery. Whereas the
behavior of clinic couples is more linked and contingent, nonclinic couples operate well at each stage of the
discussion by unlatching their interaction patterns. (p. 122)
 
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Gottman (1980) indicated that the critical factor separating clinical from nonclincal couples' conflict patterns appears to
be agreement; "In these results describing the differences in how satisfied and dissatisfied couples attempt to resolve a
marital issue, a critical role is played by agreement codes. In effect, satisfied couples continually intersperse various
subcodes of agreement into their sequences" (p. 957). This interpretation suggests that if one could demarcate sequences
involving couples agreeing with each other's ideas as they are presented during discussion, then one could target how
couples' joint idea development associates with relational satisfaction as well as assessments of the partner's competence
during the conflict.
Couple Types
Fitzpatrick and colleagues (e.g., Fitzpatrick, 1988a, 1988b; Witteman & Fitzpatrick, 1986) showed that modern marriage
is composed of different types. Traditionals hold conventional sex role beliefs, have high interdependence, and value
relational welfare over individual wants. Independents adopt egalitarian beliefs, want interdependence as well as
autonomy, and negotiate almost everything to further their personal goals. Separates enter marriage to maintain a
traditional ideology without affective interdependence or conflict. Mixed couples occur when partners adopt different
marriage models, and approximately 40% of couples fit this description (Fitzpatrick, 1988a). The most common mixed
type is the separate husband and traditional wife. Table 5.6 presents the most significant findings for each type of conflict
pattern according to couple type.1
Traditional couple patterns, as presented in Table 5.6, included solution-based (not agreement-based) validation and
contracting sequences in addition to metacommunication and feeling probes. Traditional husbands and wives reciprocated
their partners' disagreements. As Fitzpatrick (1988a) summarized, "Complementary in neutral discussions, Traditionals
refuse to relinquish control in conflict. . . . During conflict, Traditionals tend to use less agreement than the other couples
but more information seeking" (pp. 129-130). This image slightly differs from that found in Burggraf and
1 Similarly, but based on observations of couples' conflict behaviors (vs. questionnaire responses), Gottman
(1994) identified three functional and two dysfunctional couple types. According to Gottman, the three functional
types resemble Fitzpatrick's pure types. Validating couples resemble traditional couples in their interdependence
and neutral affect in managing conflict. Next, volatile couples emulate independents in their conflict engagement
tendencies. Conflict minimizers resemble Separates in their maintenance of distance through avoidance. Gottman
indicated that two other marital types exist, but appear dysfunctional in their reliance on defensiveness,
withdrawal, and contempt.
 
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TABLE 5.6
Patterns Used By Different Couple Types
Patterns
Contracting Metacomm Cross-Comp Disagreement
Validation Feeling
Probe
Traditional
HPS*WPS HCT*WCT WDIS*HDIS HDIS*WDIS HMR*WAG
HPF*WPS (.387) (.298) (.089) (.188) (.155) (.184)
WPF*HPS WPS*HPS HMR*WDG
(.381) (.352) (.184)
Independent
WPS*HAG HPF*WPF
WPF*HAG* (.075) (.122)
WPF
(.120, .170)
Separate
WPS*HAG HPF*WPF HMR*WAG
 WPF*HPS (.075) (.208) (.080)
(-.143) WPF*HPS WMR*HAG
(-.143) (.092)
Separate/ Traditional
WPS*HAG
WPF*HAG* (.145)
WPF
(.244, .311)
HPS*WPS
(-.065)
Note. H = husband; W = wife; PF = statement of feeling about a problem; AG =
arguments; PS = problem-solving/information exchange; CT = communication talk; DIS
= disagreement; MR = Mind reading. Metacomm = metacommunication; Cross-Comp =
Cross-complaining. Adapted from Fitzpatrick (1988b), p. 251.

Sillars (1987, Study 1), wherein traditionals used avoidance behaviors to initiate conflict discussion and preferred
conciliatory messages.
Independents also enacted validation sequences, as indicated by the husband's agreement; however, Gottman (1979)
found that wife agreement was the key in validation sequences. Fitzpatrick (1988b) also reported that independents used
cross complaining sequences (where the wife reciprocates negative feelings about the conflict issue). These results
complement those of Burggraf and Sillars (1987), who found that independent partners engaged in rational, analytic
forms of conflict management and followed an avoidance act with a confrontational one. This last finding comports with
the view that independents prefer direct assessment of issues and respond negatively to avoidance.
According to Table 5.6, separate husbands were less likely than expected by chance to respond to their wives' statements
of problems with a solution, either as a validation or as a crosscomplaining response. Separate
 
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husbands and wives engaged in more agreements, although these probabilities are not very large. Interestingly perhaps,
the strongest pattern was found for an exchange of negative feelings (crosscomplaining). Apparently, the relatively
benign conversation of separates heats when one partner complains. This finding was twice replicated in Burggraf and
Sillars (1987, Studies 1 and 2); that is, separates appeared to reciprocate confrontational conflict behaviors and rely less
on rational, analytic comments (unlike independents).
Finally, mixed couple types appear to rely on both validation and contracting sequences, when the husband agrees with
the wife. Burggraf and Sillars (1987) similarly reported that mixed couples used analytic behaviors and infrequently
resorted to distributive, confrontational acts. In brief, these findings indicate support for the contention that couple type
affects conflict interaction, although the tendency for all couples is to reciprocate behavior; that is, avoidance is met with
avoidance, analysis is met with analysis, and fire is met with more of the same.
More Complex Conflict Patterns
As mentioned earlier, act-to-act sequences are combined to form more elaborate patterns of conflict interaction. As
Gottman (1980) indicated, ''The probabilistic approach to the detection of temporal form may begin by identifying small
chains of interaction and then build to longer chains as the data becomes available . . . or as new and longer coding units
are employed" (p. 952).
Researchers found complex patterns using Lag 1 sequences by replicating the same Lag 1 sequences over several turns,
by identifying other chains of act-to-act sequences that follow the original Lag 1 sequence, and/or by including more than
one lag in the sequence (i.e., by simultaneously analyzing more than two consecutive behaviors). Each approach offers
insight about the emergence of behavior in real time, although each approach has its drawbacks as well. For example,
simply repeating the initial act-to-act sequence may underrepresent the complexity inherent in conflict (Sillars &
Wesiberg, 1987). Yet, connecting sequences in chains of lag 1 (as Gottman did) violates assumptions critical to lag
sequential analysis (Poole, Folger, Ghewes, 1987; Revenstorf et al., 1984). In addition, the use of more than two
consecutive behaviors reduces the size of the observational pool. Perhaps more critically the research reporting complex
sequences remains a highly specialized venture with little to no history. Although largely speculative, initial research
investments in quantified examinations of complex conflict patterns promises an enviable return in the near future.
 
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As just indicated, act-to-act sequences reveal redundancy in couples' conflict communication. For instance, Ting-Toomey
(1983) found that for dissatisfied couples, "the long strings of reciprocal interacts of confront-confront, confront-defend,
complain-defend, and defend-complain acts were identified as the key sequential patterns that characterized this system"
(p. 305). In terms of the probability estimates, for example, the criterion behavior of confrontion predicting defense at .33
or confrontion at .16 (Lag 1), then confrontion at .27 (Lag 2), then defense at .28 (Lag 3), and then confrontion at .15
(Lag 4). Incredibly, Ting-Toomey found 11 significant behavior strings for complain-defend act-to-act sequences (i.e.,
complain-defend-complain-defend-complain, etc.), with each probability estimate between behaviors as significant (z
1.96). However, satisfied couples did not engage in these long chains of negative behavior (evidence for Gottman's
"unlatching" metaphor), and they enacted briefer, and more positive, act-to-act sequences.
Act-to-act sequences also expand to complex derivations. Figure 5.2 illustrates some differences between satisfied and
dissatisfied couples' conflict interaction patterns during Gottman's negotiation phase. This example, taken from Gottman
(1979), depicts a metamorphosis of actions when the wife (not the husband) presents a solution. First, note the pattern

Fig 5.2.
Patterns of responses to wife offering a solution. From Marital interactions, experimental investigations, by J.M. Gottman
(1979, p. 117). Copyright 1979 by Academic Press. Reprinted with permission.
 
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for the clinical couples in the top portion of Fig. 5.2: After the wife presents the solution, the husband either disagrees (to
which the wife disagrees) or he presents his own proposed solution (forming a counterproposal).
The bottom portion of Fig. 5.2 shows the patterns for nonclinical couples (Gottman, 1979). Sequences for the nonclinical
couple are more varied, although two of the five resemble responses for the clinical couple. Following the wife's solution
proposal, the husband offers a statement of his feelings about the problem (to which the wife agrees or disagrees); he
agrees (and thereby forms a contract), offers a proposal of his own (thereby forming a counterproposal), engages in
metacommunication (to which the wife agrees); or disagrees (to which the wife disagrees). This example of what
happens when the wife initiates a proposal reflects only one of several complex patterns of conflict reported in Gottman.
Likewise, in charting the chains of lag-to-lag sequences, Revenstorf et al. (1984) devised a probability tree for tracing the
act-to-act probabilities that link three to five sequential behaviors. Revenstorf et al.'s probability tree shows how
pretreatment clinical couples differ from postclinical couples in their patterns of responses following a wife's statement of
a problem.
For instance, two paths appear more likely, given a wife's initial statement of a problem. These paths involve MICS
derived codes of positive (+) and negative (-) statements of problem (P), and filler (v). The most probable paths for
pretreatment distressed couples involve a positive statement or a negative statement, and the negative statement is more
likely followed by a filler and two negative statements. In addition, posttreatment therapy couples were more likely to
have positive statements or fillers than negative statements following the wife's initial problem statement. In addition,
both initial responses (positive or filler) led to a higher probability of problem statement elaborations and positive
responses.
Revenstorf et al. (1984) did not appear to hold much faith in their probability tree analysis because the outcomes do not
reflect Lag N analysis as much as they do a series of Lag 1 analyses. As Revenstorf et al. noted, although other authors
infer complex patterns as being reliable, "the present authors hesitate to do so, since it is unclear from these data what is
happening in the time between the antecedent and the lagged response. The consecutive conditional distributions do not
constitute a chain of behavior; instead, in each case they refer back to the antecedent rather than to the preceding lagged
distributions" (p. 174). Instead, Revenstorf et al. resorted to "generalized interaction patterns" of escalation and de-
escalation to characterize complex conflict patterns (pp. 174-180). This move resembles the work of Billings (1979) and
Gottman (1994) in charting the ratios of negative to positive conflict statements over time.
 
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Finally, researchers can simply combine more than one lag. Revenstorf et al. (1984) examined three, four, and five
combinations of consecutive conflict behaviors. These authors found that certain combinations were very rare. For
instance, two negative responses followed by a positive response was very infrequent in their three subsamples of
pretreatment distressed couples, posttreatment distressed couples, and nondistressed couples. Common complex
behavioral responses included strings of negative responses (e.g., - - - - -), the "yes, but" response sequence (i.e.., + v -).
Moreover some sequences were common in pretreatment couples but not posttreatment or nonclinic couples (e.g., P - v
+, where an initial negative reaction met with a filler becomes a positive reaction).

Conclusion: The Dark Side of Conflict Patterns

Conflict patterns reflect the dark side of interaction in relationships in part because the existence of patterns of
interactions suggest that in conflict situations, relational partners relinquish their personal control over the situation and
blindly follow the course of the conflict. For example, relational partners get caught in spirals of negativity if both
interactants reciprocate the partner's preceding negative comment. However, becoming aware of the properties and
characteristics of conflict patterns helps partners control their conflict patterns instead of vice versa (Gottman, 1980). For
instance, Sillars and Wilmot (1994) noted that satisfied (more than dissatisfied) couples balance the extent to which their
conflict patterns vary in terms of behavioral fluctuation (i.e., variety), topical continuity (i.e., the number of topics
discussed), symmetry (i.e., reciprocation of like behavior vs. asymmetrical responses), stationarity (i.e., phases of patterns
over time), and spontaneity (i.e., reactive vs. strategized responses). In other words, properties that characterize conflict
patterns help partners gauge how their conflict discussions help them keep their romantic system up and running. Sillars
and Wilmot suggested that moderate amounts of variety, continuity, symmetry, stationarity, and spontaneity in the
enactment of conflict patterns promote relational welfare. Similarly, the family-conflict research illustrates that flexibility
promotes healthy family functioning (e.g., Fletcher, et al., 1996; Rocissano et al., 1987).
Lest we offer the impression that all negative conflict behaviors occur in dysfunctional families or relationships, we
emphasize the following: Several patterns often appear in adjusted families and romantic relationships (see also Millar,
Rogers, & Bavelas, 1984; Sillars & Weisberg, 1987). Based on our review, several patterns tend to be darker than others.
 
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First, children with more development appear to control their siblings through interaction behaviors. For example,
Abramovitch and colleagues (i.e., Abramovitch et al., 1979; Abramovitch et al., 1980) observed that older siblings at the
preschool-age group antagonized their younger siblings more than the reverse and older siblings did not yield to younger
siblings in conflict situations. In addition, Dunn and Munn's (1987) observation that older children are more capable of
using justifications in disputes than are younger children implies that older siblings could take advantage of younger
siblings based on their argument abilities. Phinney (1986) suggested that 5-year-olds cannot assert themselves in conflicts
with older siblings because the 5-year-olds felt intimidated by their more knowledgeable and skilled older siblings. The
power imbalance created by the developmental differences between the children sets the stage for abuses of power.
Although such examples of manipulation are considered to be unethical interpersonal communication for adults,
manipulation appears to be considered normal sibling interaction behavior.
Another characteristic of sibling patterns is that conflict between young children consists of aggressive and violent
behaviors. Abramovitch and colleagues (i.e., Abramovitch et al., 1979; Abramovitch et al., 1980) observed that children
engage in physical aggression, object struggles, insults, and threats with their siblings. Corsaro (1981) noted that what is
common conflict-interaction behavior for young children is perceived as cruel or combative by adults. Hay and Ross
(1982) found that in response to an antagonist, toddlers used one word commands, such as "mine" or "no," 53% of the
time, used forcible contact 17% of the time, and used more positive responses, such as gentle touch or offering of the
object, only 23% of the time. Similarly, Abramovitch and colleagues found that responses to conflict initiated by a
sibling included crying, whining, relinquishing object, obeying, physical or verbal agonism, and avoidance. Note that
none of these response behaviors appear positive or prosocial. In addition, some violent behaviors commonly employed
against siblings, such as physical aggression, are taboo behaviors for adults. For example, whereas an older brother can
knock his sister's tooth loose as a child, such behavior in adulthood results in assault charges.
A dark pattern that emerges in normal parent-child conflict interactions is that parents' greater sophistication in
communication skills allows for strategic and manipulative conflict management. The authors of the parent-child studies
reviewed herein did not examine whether parents consciously selected the interaction behaviors used to gain compliance
from their children. Undoubtedly, parents vary in how strategically they manage conflicts with their children. However,
strategies are easily inferred from studies reviewed. For example, Rocissano et al. (1987) implied that parents
 
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manipulate young children into compliance by using synchrony of talk turns. In addition, Lytton (1979) indicated that
using positive interaction behaviors in the interact preceding the attempt at verbal control tended to meet with child
compliance. Fletcher et al.'s (1996) observations revealed that a strategy of positivity on the part of mothers is a strategy
to elicit positivity from an adolescent. Although strategic interaction behaviors are not necessarily dark, when strategies
are used to manipulate others, they become open to ethical criticism. Also, if a parent is highly strategic even without a
manipulative intent, a child might begin to feel manipulated and perhaps become distrustful of parents or others. Children
who are not ever allowed to win arguments with parents develop difficulties learning how to negotiate with others
(Eisenberg, 1992) and experience lower self-esteem.
A clearly dark conflict pattern that appears in family relationships, as well as romantic relationships, concerns how
relational partners tend to reciprocate negative behaviors. Although those in dysfunctional relationships reciprocate
negative affect for longer periods of time, the tendency to reciprocate negative affect occurs in all types of relationships
(Dunn, 1983; Fletcher et al., 1996; Gottman, 1979; Schaap, 1984). For instance, Kiecolt-Glaser et al. (1993) found that
negative behaviors were highly reciprocated in highly satisfied, newly married couples (r = .74).
Several scholars explained that the reciprocation of negativity over the course of time erodes the relationship, largely in
terms of how systems self-regulate to prevent decay. For instance, Wilmot (1988) discussed such patterns as spirals of
escalation and de-escalation; that is, Wilmot argued that dysfunctional couple communication radically fluctuates about a
baseline of behavior, and the interactions become more negative over time at the expense of the partners. Likewise,
Rogers, Courtright, and Millar (1980) observed that satisfied couples establish and fluctuate about a "homeostatic set-
point" that helps the parties coordinate the rise and fall of conversational intensity (p. 208). Similarly, Gottman (1994)
argued that couples must maintain a balance of positive to negative statements, and dysfunctional, unhappy marriages
engage in an equal amount of positive and negative conflict behaviors. Yet, happy couples engage in five positive
conflict behaviors for each negative behavior. Bochner and Eisenberg (1987), in reviewing the family interaction
literature, observed that unhealthy families not only fall into spirals of reciprocated negativity, but they also tend to be
paranoid and look for ways to blame each other as well as look for hidden motivations in their partners' utterances.
However, we stress that even satisfied partners are not immune from the urge to reciprocate the other person's negative
behaviors.
 
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A common conflict pattern that appears to invoke a rather rigid asymmetrical sequence is the demand-withdrawal pattern
in romantic involvements. The demand-withdrawal pattern refers to how one partner wants to discuss a topic of conflict,
but his or her partner reacts with a tendency to avoid the issue. This inclination to withdraw in the face of the partner's
confrontation appears uniform.
One group of researchers (Christensen & Heavey, 1990; Heavey, Layne, & Christensen, 1993; Sagrestano, Heavey, &
Christensen, 1988) tested alternative explanations for the demand-withdrawal pattern using both self-report and
observational data. The individual difference view adopts the stereotypes of women as communal and of men as
instrumental. Ostensibly due to a communal, relational orientation, women approach men, and men (who are instrumental
in orientation) avoid discussions about relational matters. The structural explanation concerns the inequity regarding the
topic in question. That is, the person who wants the partner's compliance in order to restore a fair exchange of effort is
more likely to confront the partner (e.g., regarding help with household tasks or raising children, Christensen & Heavey,
1990). Yet, the partner who does not want to change the current situation is more likely to withdraw, regardless of the
person's sex. Because they tend to experience greater benefits in marriage, men might avoid their partner to maintain
those benefits (e.g., meals, a clean home, affection; Sagrestano et al., in press).
The results from this program of research are very consistent: The partner who seeks change from the other person is
more likely to confront that person, regardless of sex. The change of demand-withdrawal roles between spouses suggests
one general tendencywithdrawal in the face of partner demand for change. If Sillars and Wilmot (1994) were correct in
their assessment, then a constant replication of the (asymmetrical) demand-withdrawal pattern leads to relational
dysfunction. Not only does the relational system remain inequitable, but the perpetuation of the asymmetrical pattern
prevents the couple's adaptation to future challenges.
The previous observations indicate the normality and the prevalence of a dark side of interaction in close relationships.
One additional (and perhaps most egregious) facet of conflict patterns concerns their sometimes subtle but significant
influence on partners. For instance, as Gottman's (1979) and Revenstorf et al.'s (1984) research illustrates, the likelihood
of any one behavior leading to the consequent behavior tends to be rather small in magnitude. When one combines that
observation with the realization that we are sometimes only discussing about 5% of interaction behavior, it is very
probable that couples in the midst of responding to each other are often unaware of the small but significant influence
that some conflict patterns have over them as individuals attempting to live
 
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happy lives. In addition, as Sillars and Weisberg (1987) noted, conflict behaviors often objectively appear disorderly and
without a recognizable structure. For social actors caught in the emotions of the moment, conflict patterns probably fall
outside their ability to make much sense of the conflict episode. Accordingly, and to revisit our earlier discussion of Sun
Tzu's The Art of War, everyday social actors are most often poor generals in the theater of personal conflict.
An additional concluding metaphor further develops how we see the dark side of conflict patterns that emerge in personal
realtionships: In a very real sense, conflict patternsand all communication patterns for that matterresemble dancing (Frank
Millar, personal communication, November 17, 1984). More precisely, knowing how two people dance requires a careful
examination of how the dance partners coordinate steps, move closer or farther apart, and repeat themselves in time to
the music. Of course, a person can learn how to dance by himself or herself, but that person will never quite know
whether the steps are good unless the partner makes similar and complementary moves. Unfortunately, the problem with
conflict is that people seldom rehearse for itthe music can be loud and the rhythm freneticand those who are really bad at
it tend to repeat the same stupid steps over and over.
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6
Codependence: The Paradoxical Nature of the Functional-Afflicted Relationship
Beth A. Le Poire
Jennifer S. Hallett
Howard Giles
University of California, Santa Barbara
Consider a typical couple including an alcoholic or drug-addicted member. Like many nonaddicted partners we
interviewed, Jill did many supportive, inadvertently reinforcing, things surrounding Jack's drinking when they were first
living together and even after they got married. Given that she did not suspect Jack had a problem with alcohol, it is not
surprising that she often drank with him, sacrificed things that she needed so that he could have the extra money he asked
for, and picked him up after he had been drinking heavily.
After a time, Jill began to notice that things were not quite as they seemed and she began to allude to others that she
thought Jack's drinking was problematic. Yet, she still refused to believe that her husband was an alcoholicfor all of the
stigmatizing reasons that any of us would not want to admit that our partner was an alcoholic. Eventually, something
critical happened that forced Jill to accept Jack's alcoholism. Often the Jacks we encounter have horrific car accidents,
become violent or verbally abusive
 
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toward their Jills or their children, get put in jail for one reason or another, or receive a drunk driving citation.
After the critical incident, Jill's denial crumbles and she consistently punishes Jack's drinking behavior by verbally
confronting him, withdrawing her affection, refusing to sleep with or share the same room with Jack, and threatening to
leave or asking him to move out. This consistency is maintained for a while because Jill can no longer endure his
behavior. Then after a while, she begins to realize that there is absolutely nothing she can do to affect Jack's drinking
behavior and begins to mix reinforcing and punishing behaviors associated with Jack's drinking. Sometimes she keeps
the children out of his way and takes over household chores and responsibilities that were once his. At the same time, she
withdraws affection, calls an advice bureau about getting a divorce, and actually becomes physically abusive with him as
well. This mix of reinforcing, punishing, then intermittent reinforcing and punishing behavior is at the crux of
Inconsistent Nurturing as Control (INC) theory. Although Jill is doing the best that she can (in an extremely difficult
situation) to try to get Jack to stop ruining both their lives, by applying learning theory principles, it becomes evident that
she is inadvertently strengthening the very behavior that she is attempting to extinguish through intermittent
reinforcement and intermittent punishment.
Although current statistics indicate that 80% of the patients presenting themselves for drug abuse treatment are male,
codependents may also be male (A. Brumbaugh, personal communication, November 3, 1996). Although our own
research shows that it is difficult to find couples in which the female is addicted and the male is not, consider the
following coupleheroin-addicted Jane and her alcoholic partner Dickthat we also interviewed. The only difference with
(heroin-addicted relations) is that the stakes are higher and the intermittent nature of the reinforcement and punishment is
more apparent. Jane has been a hardcore heroin addict since she was 15 years old. She often spent the rent money that
Dick gave her on the drug. Although he gave her a hard time about it, Dick replaced the rent money for several months
in a row. Dick also brought Jane fixes of heroin at work so she could function and bring home a paycheck. He also
encouraged Jane to use heroin at various times so she would have sex with him or so he could avoid being with her when
she became sick and mean from withdrawal. This mix of reinforcement and punishment is not uncommon in the
codependent-afflicted relationship; this is the point of exploration herein.
Although the dark side of relationships is socially ubiquitous, as evident in this volume (e.g, fatal attractions, jealousy,
betrayal, and sexual coercion), this chapter discusses the nature of codependencythose relation-
 
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ships that include stigmatized individuals (e.g., alcoholics, drug addicts or sex addicts, gamblers, mentally ill individuals)
who usually extend their stigma to their significant others. The partners are known to be strong and caring individuals
who nurture their partners through difficult periods, while simultaneously attempting to control, or reduce, their partners'
tendency to engage in some undesirable behavior or another. These partners are often referred to as codependents, and
our objective here is to explore the dynamics of the relationship (as we view codependency as a relational phenomenon)
and the communication between codependents and their partners.
In understanding the dark side of this relationship, we invoke INC theory to argue that contrary to the codependent's
goals, it is likely that their attempts to control the undesirable behavior of the afflicted (e.g., drug addict) may have
opposite effects than they intend and could actually exacerbate the very behavior they are trying to eradicate (Le Poire,
1992, 1995). INC theory contends that the power structure in distressed relationships is paradoxical and limits the
strategies that codependents can use in their attempts to control their partners' undesirable behaviors.
In this vein, the chapter begins with a brief discussion of the nature of codependency in terms of the definitions,
characteristics, and psychological disorders associated with codependence. Most of this work is clinical in nature, but it
helps inform the nature of the relationship and aid in exploration of the interactional implications of the dynamics of the
codependent-afflicted relationship. Given current problems with the conceptualizations of codependency, INC theory
offers useful definitions to study codependents as functional individuals, whereas their partners are differentiated as
afflicted individuals. Beside these definitions, this theory also proffers predictions regarding the potential ineffectiveness
of the functional's controlling attempts of the afflicted's behavior. Finally, initial research on the theory with alcoholics
and drug addicts is reviewed, and implications for future research and intervention are explored.

Conceptualizing Codependency
Although the term codependency is widely used in both professional and popular press, its precise meaning has not been
firmly established. Not-withstanding, there is even greater variability in the characteristics said to describe those who are
codependent (albeit with surprising agreement between authors). To put these characteristics in high relief, Table 6.1
presents seven categories of characteristics of codependents: socialization-development, psychological-relational,
emotional, cognitive, com-
 
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TABLE 6.1
Some Characteristics of Codependency
Category Characteristic Recent Citation
Socialization/ Dysfunctional family, unaccepting Carson & Baker, 1994; Cowan
Development family & Warren, 1994
Felt invisible as a child Mellody, Miller, & Miller, 1989
Psychological Difficulty in acknowledging impact Mellody, Miller, & Miller, 1989
Relational of behavior on other
Fear of abandonment Carson & Baker, 1994
Self-esteem comes from controlling Cowan & Warren, 1994;
other Cermak, 1986
Become dependent on other Beattie, 1987
Emotional Have difficulty feeling appropriate Becker, 1989
emotions
Anxiety or nervousness Hawks, Bahr, & Wang, 1994
Low self-esteem, self-condemning Cowan & Warren, 1994
Cognitive "All or nothing" mentality Mellody, Miller, & Miller, 1994
Inflexibility or rigidity Cowan & Warren, 1994
Obsessive or compulsive Peterson & Seligson, 1992;
Phillips, 1988
Communicative Protects other through lying, denying,Hawks, Bahr, & Wang, 1994;
or rationalizing Koffinke, 1991
Become resentful when their needs Phillips, 1988
are not met by other
Unable to ask for what they want Peterson & Seligson, 1992
and need from other
Behavioral Focus on other, deny own needs Carson & Baker, 1994
Make themselves "indispensable" to Phillips, 1988; Schaef, 1986
other
Consequences Feelings of inadequacy, Carson & Baker, 1994
upon "failure" incompetency, guilt, or shame
Become critical of, or blame other Robinson, 1990
municative, behavioral, and consequences of so-called "failure." This table is a summary and is not exhaustive, but it is a
fair representation of those qualities most commonly associated with codependent individuals. It also serves to illustrate
that most of the characteristics attributed to codependents are negative and serves to fuel the criticism that current
conceptualizations of codependency include so many common characteristics that they have become virtually fruitless
with regard to treatment or clear diagnosis.
In an attempt to obviate the current confusion surrounding definitions of codependency in the literature, the following
section distinguishes an
 
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operationalism of codependency useful to the INC theory. A brief review of this literature points out that definitions of
codependency focus on control (e.g., Beattie, 1987; Cermak, 1984; Schaef, 1986), nurturing (e.g., Friel & Friel, 1987;
Gordon & Barrett, 1993; Kasl, 1989), and maintenance of relationships with chemically dependent individuals (e.g.,
Phillips, 1988; Wegscheider-Cruse, 1985; Whitfield, 1987), or individuals who engage in undesirable behavior, including
alcoholism or drug dependence (e.g., Becker, 1989; Cermak, 1986; DuPont & McGovern, 1991).
Although views of codependency vary, a commonly accepted definition that points to the central nature of control in this
relationship is "one who has let another person's behavior affect him or her, and who is obsessed with controlling that
person's behavior" (Beattie, 1987, p. 31; see also Schaef, 1992). Whereas such a definition allows that this reaction to the
out-of-control behavior of one's partner is normal, still others argue that codependents unconsciously perpetuate the
unhealthy behavior of family members. Dupont and McGovern (1991) went so far as to argue that codependent
individuals "share the responsibility for the unhealthy behavior, primarily by focusing their lives on the sick or the bad
behavior and by making their own self-esteem and well-being contingent on the behavior of the unhealthy family
member" (p. 316).
Such a critical focus led to the argument that codependency is a psychological disorder capable of a Diagnostic and
Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) diagnosis (e.g., Nathans, 1981). Cermak (1986) defined codependence as
"a recognizable pattern of personality traits, predictably found within most members of chemically dependent families,
which are capable of creating sufficient dysfunction to warrant diagnosis of Mixed Personality Disorder in DSM III" (p.
1). He argued that the diagnosis of Codependent Personality Disorder can be made through the following five diagnostic
criteria:
1. Investment of self-esteem in the ability to control oneself and others in adverse situations.
2. Assumption of responsibility for meeting others' needs to the exclusion of one's own.
3. Anxiety and boundary distortions around intimacy and separation.
4. Enmeshment in relationships with personality disordered, chemically dependent, other codependent, and/or
impulse-disordered individuals.
5. Three or more of the following: excessive denial, constricted emotions, depression, hypervigilance,
compulsions, anxiety, substance abuse, sexual or physical abuse victim, stress-related illness, or maintenance of a
primary relationship with an active substance abuser for two or more years.
Although certainly useful in terms of operationalizing codependence in terms of nurturing, control, and relationship
maintenance, diagnosing
 
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codependence as a psychiatric disorder is consistent with theorizing that wives unconsciously encourage substance-
dependent behavior due to their own pathological problems of martyrdom or desire for domination over their husbands
(e.g., Paige, La Pointe, & Krueger, 1971; Rae & Drewery, 1972; Whalen, 1953). Whereas this perspective is often
discounted as overly blaming of the spouse, and particularly female spouses (e.g., Anderson, 1994; Haaken, 1990), the
more current theorizing of family systems is also consonant with this line of reasoning (Kaufman, 1985a; Kaufman &
Kaufmann, 1979; Steinglass, 1976). Ewing and Fox (1968) argued that homeostasisthe principle of balance within the
systemis used in the alcoholic family to resist change, and alterations by one spouse (e.g., reduction in drinking behavior)
prompts the other to attempt to maintain the status quo. In other words, these theorists argue that spouses of newly sober
alcoholics may be uncomfortable with losing their role behavior and may unconsciously encourage their spouses' relapse.
Fundamentally, the systems approach discounts the disease model of alcoholism and proffers instead that the sickness of
the family (vs. the individual) may be causing and/or maintaining the drinking.
Contrary to this thinking, much work that focused on wives of alcoholics indicated that they cannot be consistently
characterized in terms of mental health disorders. Using Cermak's (1986) diagnostic criteria, Martin and Piazza (1995)
found that codependency is not a separate personality disorder in women, but is indicative of women presenting
combined personality disorders or situationally adaptive response mechanisms. Similarly, Chiauzzi and Liljegren (1993)
noted the lack of empirical support for the disease conceptualization of codependency.
Ballard (1959) found that wives of alcoholics did not score higher on maladjustment than a comparable control group.
Kogan, Jackson, and Fordyce (1963) found that although many wives of alcoholics exhibited some personality
dysfunction, just as many did not. This equal split is consistent with the more recent findings of Walfish, Stenmark,
Shealy, and Krone (1992) who studied the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory (MMPI) of 73 women presenting
themselves as codependents (via self-identification). Additionally, O'Brien and Gaborit (1992) found that codependent
people were no more depressed than noncodependent people. Furthermore, Corder, Hendricks, and Corder's (1964)
results caused them to question the widely accepted caricature of wives of alcoholics as neurotic, disturbed, and poorly
integrated. Edwards, Harvey, and Whitehead (1973) argued that any dysfunction a wife of an alcoholic may experience is
situationally dependent on their spouses' drinking. In other words, mental health dysfunction of wives is higher when
their spouse drinks and lower when their spouse is abstinent.
 
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Similar to the previously reviewed literature, INC theory (Le Poire, 1992, 1995) views codependent partners in terms of
their interactive communication environment, which is difficult and out-of-control. With more sympathy for the
codependent partner, it is very possible that they are doing the best they can to try to alleviate the pressures of addiction
or the other's out-of-control behavior. At the same time, it is also possible that what they are doing is not only ineffective,
but may also inadvertently contribute further to the problem.
This contribution to the problem is likely the result of the two competing goals of the typical codependentnurturing and
controlling. In INC theory, this partner is referred to as the functional partner. Although some might argue that this
partner is also dysfunctional in some ways, the term was utilized to recognize that this partner has no unique problem
(other than being in a relationship with an out-of-control partner) that interferes with his or her day-to-day functioning.
The partner identified as having a problem (e.g., drinker, smoker, overeater, under eater, gambler, depressed person) is
referred to as the afflicted partner, as he or she is afflicted with some form of behavioral compulsion. Finally, the
compulsive behavior of the afflicted partner is referred to as undesirable behavior (e.g., drinking, smoking, overeating,
anorexia, gambling addiction, violence, depressive behavior), as this behavior is typically the focus of extinguishing
attempts. This delineation allows us to discuss these individuals and behaviors in general terms that allows the theory to
generalize across several types of caregiver-caregivee relationships.

Inconsistent Nurturing as Control and Other Relevant Theories

In line with the arguments of Jacob and Leonard (1988), Jacobson (Jacobson, Holtzworth-Munroe, & Schmaling, 1989),
and Kaufman (1984, 1985b; Kaufman & Kaufmann, 1979), Stanton (1986), INC theory stresses that family involvement
is crucial for all types of substance-dependence intervention. In comparison to studies of the characteristics of the wife of
the alcoholic (e.g., Bailey, 1961), very little research made attempts to examine directly the communication patterns that
exist in this marital relationship (e.g., Jacob & Leonard, 1988). The unique focus of INC theory, then, is its attempts to
examine the communication patterns in relationships with substance-dependent or otherwise afflicted individuals, with an
emphasis on the dynamics of the relationship rather than focusing on the identified-patient or the pathological wife.
 
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Le Poire (1992, 1995) argued that functional partners act as naive learning theorists (Skinner, 1953), using both
reinforcements (nurturance) and punishments (control attempts) to attempt to diminish the undesirable behavior of
afflicted partners. Specifically, learning theorists posit that behavioral tendencies are strengthened by the consequences
that follow them (i.e., reinforcers; Skinner, 1974). Additionally, reinforcers are positive (pleasant and rewarding) or
negative (removal of some unpleasant or aversive outcome) and are continuous (with reinforcement following each
behavior), or intermittent (with some behaviors reinforced, whereas other like behaviors are not). Intermittent
reinforcement results in greater recurrence of behavior than does continuous reinforcement (e.g., Burgoon, Burgoon,
Miller, & Sunnafrank, 1981). Punishment, on the other hand, involves presenting an aversive stimulus in an effort to
extinguish undesirable behavior.
Le Poire (1992) argued that if the functional partner nurtures the afflicted partner when he or she is exhibiting undesirable
behavior, this caretaking behavior ultimately becomes pleasant (i.e., comforting, understanding, etc.) to the afflicted and
thus (at least partially), reinforces the behavior. Eventually, caregivers begin to resent the demands placed on them by the
afflicted (Asher, 1992; Steiner, 1974; Wiseman, 1991), and they may stop nurturing (and inadvertently reinforcing)
undesirable behavior. This inconsistent nurturing (nurturing, then lack of nurturing, and often punishment) behavior is at
the heart of INC theory. The inconsistency of this behavior approximates intermittent reinforcement and ultimately
strengthens the undesirable behavior of the afflicted person. What is clear is that this lack of nurturing behavior is most
likely an attempt to extinguish the afflicted behavior. In learning theory terms, inconsistent nurturing is an attempt to
punish the afflicted or remove the undesirable behavior from the partner's repertoire. Unfortunately, the intermittent
nature of punishing behavior actually increases the likelihood of the undesirable behavior. Specifically, in studies of
battered women, Long and McNamara (1989) found that punishment serves as a discriminative stimulus for immediate or
eventual reinforcement; speeds up responding and prolongs extinction; and enhances responsiveness by increasing the
motivation for obtaining positive reinforcement. Thus, the inconsistent nurturing behavior of the functional partner
actually strengthens the undesirable behavior in two independent yet related ways. First, it promotes undesirable behavior
through intermittent reinforcement (nurturing followed by lack of nurturing). Second, it increases the likelihood for
undesirable behavior through intermittent punishment (lack of nurturing, followed by nurturing, followed by lack of
nurturing, etc.). Given these arguments, it is possible to contend that most functional
 
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partners are inconsistent in their use of reinforcement and punishment over the long term in a relationship and during the
micromanagement of interactions between partners.
Another useful perspective undergirding INC theory's understanding of the functional person's use of nonverbal approach
and avoidance is provided through the frame of social exchange theory. Briefly, social exchange theory seeks to explain
the development, maintenance, and decay of social relationships by focusing on the balance of rewards and costs (e.g.,
Blau, 1964; Brinberg & Castell, 1982; Thibaut & Kelley, 1959). In terms of power, the partner controlling the most
rewards, which builds the partner's power base, is assumed to be the powerful one and the other is indebted to him or
her. In terms of the functional-afflicted relationship, the functional partner typically maintains his or her power base
through caretaking behavior (Beattie, 1987). Thus, behaviors associated with caretaking, namely, immediacy and
altercentrism, are of focus for consideration of the functional person's power base.
In consonance with Thibaut and Kelley's (1959) discussion of comparison level of alternative relationships, Blau (1964)
discussed conditions that predict social independence and less subjection to another's power. Most pertinent to the
codependent relationship is that the more alternative sources of supply persons have, the more likely they are to be
socially independent. As previously noted, family units with drug or alcohol abusers are socially isolated (Beattie, 1987,
1989; Gorski & Miller, 1988; Whitfield, 1987), thus reducing the opportunity for alternate sources of relational rewards.
Additionally, drug or alcohol abusers, and their respective spouses, typically have low self-esteem (e.g., Carson & Baker,
1994; Cowan & Warren, 1994; Shulman, 1988), thus devaluing their resources and underestimating their potential reward
level in alternative relationships and in the present relationship. This has two implications. First, it is unlikely that either
partner perceives that he or she has the ability to leave the relationship, thereby increasing dependence. Second, it is
probable that each perceives the partner's resources as much more rewarding than anything he or she has to offer. Thus, it
is very likely that both partners are highly dependent on the relationship and experience subjective powerlessness in the
situation. This powerlessness, in turn, leads to a greater desire to exercise control.
Because of the predicted greater reliance on nonverbal communication to control, functional-afflicted relationships cycle
more dramatically between approach and avoidance behaviors, as the functional partner tends to use both nonverbal
approach behaviors (i.e., altercentrism or immediacy) and avoidance behaviors (i.e., withdrawal) in order to gain control
in the relationship. Additionally, there is an overreliance
 
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on these latter avoidant punishing mechanisms because the codependent partner is not allowed to reference past giving
behavior during times of crisis, as it calls the unwritten rule system into jeopardy. Thus, whereas more traditional
relationships are able to call forward personal commitment, or obligation due from past rewarding behavior, the
functional partner is most likely restricted to the more passive removal of previous rewarding behavior in an attempt to
indirectly reference past rewarding behavior.
One of the primary resources in the functional person's power base is the ability to be immediate (i.e., communicatively
indicating psychological closeness) and altercentered (i.e., other-focused and self-sacrificing) toward the afflicted person
during times of crisis (e.g., providing messages of affection and services). The primary assumption underlying this
argument is that the afflicted person has a high need for nurturing and the functional person possesses the ability to fulfill
this need by being aware of the afflicted person's need and by focusing on that individual.
Immediacy and its expression were studied by many researchers. Immediacy is defined by Mehrabian (1969) as ''the
extent to which communication behaviors enhance closeness to or nonverbal interaction with another" (p. 203) and
includes such behaviors as interpersonal distance, gaze, posturing, touch, body and facial orientation, body lean, and
vocalic cues (Coker & Burgoon, 1987). These nonverbal behaviors, although typically seen as serving the instrumental
function of expressing immediacy and affection, ultimately act as rewards in the functional-afflicted relationship and
reinforce subsequent controlling behavior of the functional partner.
Burgoon and Hale (1984, 1987) argued for, and revealed, several interrelated themes in the expression of immediacy,
such that immediacy and/or intimacy consists of affection, similarity or depth, receptivity, and trust. Thus, in the
functional-afflicted relationship, behaviors communicating these messages are considered to be rewarding and part of the
functional person's power base, whereas withholding these behaviors is considered punishing and has the potential to act
as control strategies. More specifically, control strategies consist of messages of lack of affection, lack of similarity
(supported by Burgoon & Hale's measure of dominance), and lack of receptivity.
In an attempt to study nonverbal behaviors associated with these relational themes, Burgoon, Buller, Hale, and deTurk
(1984) found that greater intimacy and trust were conveyed by increased eye contact, close proximity, forward body lean,
and smiling. Detachment, conversely, was associated with decreased eye contact, distal position, backward body lean,
 
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and absence of smiling and touch. According to the argument that behaviors associated with immediacy operate from the
functional partner's power base, these latter behaviors are considered to be punishing and should operate as (or facilitate)
control mechanisms in the functional-afflicted relationship.
Additionally, Andersen, Andersen, and Jensen (1979) provided a comprehensive synthesis of studies examining
behaviors associated with immediacy. These include: reduced proxemic distance, increased touch, increased eye contact
or gazing, positive facial expressions (smiling), positive head nods, increased gesturing, bodily relaxation, increased time
with the interactant, direct head and body orientation, and vocal expressiveness. Again, given the argument that these
behaviors should be rewarding to the afflicted partner, the opposites of these behaviors should be considered to be
punishing and function as control mechanisms in the functional-afflicted relationship.
Coker and Burgoon (1987) argued that the broader construct of involvement (the degree to which participants are
cognitively and behaviorally engaged in a topic) consists of immediacy, expressiveness, interaction management,
altercentrism, and social anxiety. Narrowing our focus to remain consistent with the functional-afflicted relationship,
attention is given to immediacy and altercentrism expression. Although behaviors associated with immediacy include
those previously mentioned by Andersen et al. (1979), they also distinguish behaviors associated with altercentrism.
Behaviors associated with altercentrism include: kinesic and proxemic attentiveness (i.e., involved, interested, attentive,
focused, and alert behaviors), and vocal warmth and interest (i.e., warm, interested, involved, pleasant, friendly, and
appealing behaviors). Keeping in line with the argument that lack of altercentrism is punishing to the functional-afflicted
relationship, and thus act as control mechanisms, lack of altercentrism is communicated through (a) lack of kinesic and
proxemic attentiveness (i.e., uninvolved, uninterested, inattentive, unfocused, and unalert behaviors), and lack of vocal
warmth and interest (i.e., cool, uninterested, uninvolved, unpleasant, unfriendly, and unappealing behaviors).
Other types of communication behavior that function to communicate messages of immediacy and altercentrism, and
ultimately affect messages of relational control, include synchrony (e.g., Als, Tronick, & Brazelton, 1979; Bernieri,
Reznick, & Rosenthal, 1988; Brazelton, Tronick, Adamson, Als, & Wise, 1975), reciprocity or compensation (e.g.,
Andersen, 1984; Burgoon & Hale, 1988; Cappella & Greene, 1982; Patterson, 1983, Street & Cappella, 1985), and
communication accommodation (e.g., Giles, Mulac, Bradac, & Johnson, 1987). Communication accommodation, for ex-
 
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ample, includes both convergence and divergence of speech patterns. Convergence, or movement toward similarity in
speech behavior, expresses a speaker's desire for social integration, seeking or showing approval, identification, or
communicative effectiveness with another. Divergence, conversely, is movement toward dissimilarity in speech behavior
and is deliberately used to maintain a definite social distance between interactants. Because convergence is expressive of
similarity or immediacy, it should be rewarding to dependent partners, whereas maintenance (i.e., nonaccommodation) or
divergence should be punishing and should act as, or emphasize control strategies in the functional-afflicted relationship.
Specific behaviors on which individuals were found to converge or diverge include accent, language choice, speech rate,
response latency, turn duration, and content (for review, see Giles, Coupland, & Coupland, 1991). Thus, convergence on
these behaviors should be a part of the functional partner's power base, whereas divergence should be punishing and
should potentially act as control strategies in functional-afflicted relationships.
The theory also invokes three other strategies of accommodation that are distinct from interpersonal matching, of which
two are particularly relevant here (see Giles, Coupland, & Coupland, 1991). The first is so-called, "interpretability
strategies," where individuals attune (or not) to their partners' communicative competence. For instance, individuals
accommodate others who are under the influenceor reviving from being in that stateby modifying the complexity of their
speech (e.g., decreasing the diversity of the vocabulary, simplifying syntax, or slowing down rate). Of course, such
modifications might be attributed to be overaccommodating by the afflicted, who is more alert than anticipated. Of
course, such attuning is not forthcoming from the functional partner and/or is perceived by the recipient to be
underaccommodating. Another relevant attuning strategy is discourse management, whereby the functional partner
facilitates the afflicted's problematic sequences and generally works to redress positive or negative face threats to a
recipient. Such strategies are paralleled (or not, of course) by what we might call here "affective accommodation," which
takes into account the emotional state of the afflicted at the timeor in recent timesby empathic words, verbalized support,
and comforting nonverbals (Williams, Giles, Coupland, Dalby, & Manasse, 1990).
In sum, afflicted partners should find behaviors associated with immediacy and altercentrism to be rewarding. These
behaviors, in turn, help to develop or maintain the functional partner's power base. Because functional partners are
restricted from calling on the obligation that these behaviors have incurred, they must rely on more subtle methods of
control.
 
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Thus, removal of the power bases actually reference the past rewarding behavior and act to induce afflicted partners to
action.

Core Paradoxes of Codependency (as Conceptualized by Inc)

In order to most fully explore the unique dynamics of the functional-afflicted relationship, it is important to consider the
paradoxes that exist in that relationship. A paradox is "a contradiction that follows correct deduction from consistent
premises" (Watzlawick, Beavin, & Jackson, 1967, p. 188; see also Weeks & L'Abate, 1982; Wilder & Collins, 1994).
Pragmatic paradoxes (as separate from logicomathematical and semantic paradoxes) are interactional in nature and are of
most interest because of their behavioral implications. An example of a pragmatic paradox evidenced in schizophrenic
families is the maxim "you can only help me by not being what you are" (Palazzoli, Boscolo, Cecchin, & Prata, 1978, p.
157). The paradox exists in its impossibility of execution. This paradox has direct implications for families that include
functional and afflicted members.
The first paradox is the most crucial to the propositional delineation of INC theory (Le Poire, 1995). The first assumption
is that functional partners are dependent on, and desire maintenance of, relationships with afflicteds (e.g., Cermak, 1986;
Friel & Friel, 1987; Kasl, 1989; Phillips, 1988; Wegscheider-Cruse, 1985). Because a majority of functional partners are
female, this assumption is consistent with theorizing that battered wives stay with their husbands because of the value of
being a good wife and mother, the secondary status of women in our society, and the economic conditions that encourage
dependency of women on men (Ferraro & Johnson, 1983). In seeming contradiction, the second assumption is that
functional partners are obsessed with controlling the afflicteds' behavior and attempt to extinguish the undesirable
behavior of the afflicted person (e.g., Beattie, 1987; Cermak, 1986; Schaef, 1986). For example, previous research
showed that wives of alcoholics often attempt to control substance availability, hide car keys, and withhold sexual activity
(James & Goldman, 1971; Orford et al., 1975). Notwithstanding these control attempts (which may not be perceived
positively by the afflicted individual for much of the time), other theorists argue that one of the reasons the afflicted
person maintains the relationship with the functional partner is because the functional is especially rewarding for him or
her during times of crises.
 
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Given these assumptions, it is possible to conclude that functionals actually destroy the relationship if they are successful
at extinguishing the undesirable behavior. Ironically, functional partners ultimately need the existence of the undesirable
behavior they are trying to extinguish in order to maintain the relationship. This paradox is central to INC theory,
especially with regard to the use of nurturing and controlling behavior in attempts to control. Even though the functional
partner fervently desires amelioration of disruptive behavior, he or she may ultimately be driven by the fear that stopping
the undesirable behavior lessens the afflicted's dependency on him or her (although it might be argued that length of
valued relationship lessens this fear). Thus, functional partners ultimately have competing intentions: They want to
diminish the out-of-control behavior of the afflicted that is disrupting their lives, and they are afraid that being successful
at extinguishing the undesirable behavior might actually destroy the relationship, which gives them their sense of identity
and well-being (Kasl, 1989). These competing intentions serve as an explanatory function for the realization that the
control attempts made by functional partners are often not that effective in diminishing undesired behavior.
Another paradox in the functional-afflicted relationship is illustrated by inferring both the premises and the conclusion
from Beattie's (1987) definition. The first premise is that functionals believe they are more in control in the relationship
than afflicteds. The second premise is consistent with the first in that afflicteds are out of control in some aspect of their
lives. However, using alternative punctuation of the events sure to exist in this relationship, it is possible to conclude that
the afflicteds are ultimately in control of the relationship because it is their behavior that precedes and causes the
controlling behavior of the functional partner. This conclusion directly contradicts the first premise by negating the
functional partners' ability to be in control, as they are responding to the afflicteds rather than actively taking control.
The final paradox that Le Poire (1992) laid out also has implications for dominance and control in the functional-afflicted
relationship. Consistent with the earlier paradox, it was argued that two of the primary characteristics of the codependent
partner are caretaking and controlling (Beattie, 1987; Carson & Baker, 1994; Peterson & Seligson, 1992). This complies
with the argument that functionals subordinate their needs to those of the afflicteds during times of crises (e.g., rather
than getting groceries, they give their partners money). Another argument is that this self-sacrificing behavior earns credit
in future bargaining situations with the afflicted partner. Following this thinking, if afflicteds alter their undesirable
behavior, it can be concluded that this is in order to return the obligation incurred by the self-sacrificing
 
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behavior of the functional partner (cf., norm of reciprocity, Gouldner, 1960). This conclusion contradicts the first premise
in that the functionals' "one down" behavior actually placed them "one up" in terms of control. Thus, once again, it
becomes unclear who is actually in control in the functional-afflicted relationship. The paradoxical nature of this
relationship serves as an explanation for restricted forms of control attempts in the functional-afflicted relationship.
Le Poire (1992) argued that the most relevant outcome of interactional paradoxes for communication researchers is that
individuals are unable to metacommunicate, or talk openly, about the contradiction or paradox (whether or not they know
of its existence). Watzlawick et al. (1967) asserted that the existence of paradoxes in interactions affects both behavior
and sanityby challenging a belief in consistency. This is based, in part, on work by Bateson, Jackson, Haley, and
Weakland (1956), who argued that persons caught in paradoxical injunctions, or double binds, develop schizophrenic
symptoms. They claimed that one of the outcomes of the paradox is that individuals are involved in an intense
relationship and in that relationship, they are unable to metacommunicate concerning the contradiction or paradox. This
helps to explain why functional partners are often enmeshed in relationships with afflicted partners, as proposed by
Cermak (1986). The most important implication for individuals in codependent relationships is that they are unable to
discuss openly the nature of control within their relationship because this is where the paradoxes exist.
Codependent relationships, especially those that include excessive alcohol or drug use, often encourage social isolation of
the couple or family unit (e.g., Beattie, 1987, 1989; Gorski & Miller, 1988; Jacob & Seilhamer, 1982; Koffinke, 1991;
Moos & Moos, 1984), which fosters the development of solidarity. This solidarity, in combination with restricted
metacommunication due to paradoxical relations, induces reliance on restricted linguistic codes (Steinglass, 1982a) that
should be apparent during any discussion in which control is at stake. Thus, as alluded to earlier, it would be possible for
researchers to examine the contention that relational partners in substance-dependent relationships rely most heavily on
nonverbal strategies of influence over the more direct verbal strategies.
Family members in codependent relationships adapt to their family system by protecting and enabling the dysfunctional
family secret (e.g., addiction, mental illness, etc.) through the maintenance of certain unwritten, unspoken rules
(Greenleaf, 1988; Mason, 1988; Shulman, 1988). These unwritten, restrictive rules include inappropriateness of
discussion of problems, lack of open emotional expression, encouragement of indirect
 
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communication, lack of selfishness, and abstinence from "rocking the boat" (Subby & Friel, 1988); they should be
especially apparent during expressions of control due to the paradoxical nature of the power structure in the codependent
relationship. In other words, codependent or functional partners are less free to reference verbally their past rewarding
(e.g., enabling or immediate) behavior as an inducement for the dependent partners' compliance. It is highly unlikely, for
instance, for the functional partner to say, "After all I've done for you when you were puking your guts out on the floor,"
because it violates the unspoken rule system and directly addresses the nature of the undesirable behavior. In turn, greater
reliance on restricted linguistic codes should foster an even greater reliance on nonverbal strategies of control, as
functional partners rely on strategies that do not make direct reference to the undesirable behavior. However, it is quite
possible that past giving or enabling behavior lends reinforcement to these nonverbal strategies of influence.

Studies in Support of Inconsistent Nurturing as Control Theory

Initial tests of INC theory from a macro-overtime perspective were consistent with expectations (Le Poire, Hallett, &
Erlandson, 1996). Twenty-five couplesin which one member was substance-dependent or abusivewere interviewed in
their homes. Members of the couple were assessed for qualification of the study with the chemical use, abuse, and
dependency scale (CUAD; McGovern & Morrison, 1992), which provides a DSM-III diagnosis of severity, dependence,
and abusiveness of substances. Additionally, they were separated and both asked individually what the nonaddicted,
functional partner did around the drug use (a) prior to it being labeled problematic, (b) after it was labeled problematic,
and (c) subsequent to frustration with influence attempts. The expectation was that partners would reinforce the behavior
more before the drug use was labeled problematic, punish the behavior more after the labeling, and revert to a mix of
reinforcement and punishment after they experienced frustration with the lack of success of their persuasive attempts.
After coding the strategies as reinforcing or punishing of addictive behavior or reinforcing or punishing of alternative
behavior, consistency of the attempts was calculated. It was expected that greater consistency would result in less relapse
and greater persuasive effectiveness on the part of the functional partner as perceived by the addicted partner.
 
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The results of this first study of INC theory with substance abusers and their partners indicates that functional partners are
inconsistent in their use of punishment and reinforcement of substance use. They reported the greatest reinforcement and
the least punishment before the drug abuse was labeled problematic and reported the greatest amount of punishment and
the least amount of reinforcement after the drug abuse was labeled problematic. Additionally, the results of this same
study indicate that partners are fairly inconsistent (around 67% of the behaviors used by functional partners were
inconsistent with the behavior they followed) throughout all three time periods (prelabeling, postlabeling, and
postfrustration) and present their afflicted partners with a mix of reinforcing and punishing communication behavior
following a frustration period. This inconsistency, as predicted, had serious consequences on the afflicted partners'
reported relapse (or continued drug use) and perceptions of the functionals' persuasive effectiveness. Specifically,
functional partners who reported consistent reinforcement of substance abuse during the postlabeling and postfrustration
periods had partners who reported greater relapse (accounting for 44% of the variance). Hence, the overall findings of
this initial study support the INC contention that inconsistent nurturing is implicated in the recidivism among a drug-
using sample. Interestingly, drug abusers did not perceive their functional partners to be less persuasively effective when
they consistently reinforced substance-abusive behavior.
An earlier pilot investigation also revealed that homogamy of the couple in terms of drug abuse or dependence made a
difference in terms of strategies used to alter the drug abuse of one partner (Le Poire, O'Sullivan, & Hallett, 1996).
Persuading partners differed based on drug dependence, with functional (i.e., nonusing) partners doing more favors (i.e.,
indirect reinforcement) and afflicted partners using more assertion (i.e., direct punishment). Most important, a test of the
effectiveness of strategy type revealed that increased use of avoidance, which is a strategy composed of a mix of
reinforcing and punishing strategies (e.g., hitting, paying bills, arguing while under the influence, making partner
comfortable while using, or giving food while using), actually led to greater rates of recidivism. This finding supports
INC theory in that inconsistency led to greater recidivism.

Summary and Dark Side Implications

At a time when recovery programs are burgeoning, much time and effort is devoted to altering behaviors that are
considered to be deviant, undesirable,
 
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or negative. For example, countless recovery programs and research protocols are devoted to substance abuse recovery
(e.g., Jacob, Favorini, Meisel, & Anderson, 1978; Jacobson, Holtzworth-Munroe, & Schmaling, 1989; Kaufman &
Kaufmann, 1979), the reduction of aggressive behavior in children (Patterson & Reid, 1970), the reduction of depression
(Biglan et al., 1985; Hops et al., 1987), and lessening interpersonal conflicts in distressed couples (Patterson, Hops, &
Weiss, 1975). Although these problems are varied, one consistency among them is a life partner who often shares the
pain of the problem and the gain of recovery.
Although it should be obvious that codependent relationships offer many benefits to both partners, it seems that those
advantages are actually at the heart of the paradoxical nature of the relationship, as they are often double-edged swords.
For example, focusing all of their time and attention on afflicted partners allows the functional to avoid too much self-
focus and thereby self-criticism. Alternatively, this other focus is also the cause of much suffering for functionals.
Furthermore, the functional partners are also allowed the luxury of feeling a greater sense of emotional and physical
health by comparison to afflicted partners. Alternatively, this ill health on the part of afflicted partners requires much
caregiving behavior, which breeds great resentments. Finally, afflicteds greatly benefit from functionals' caregiving
behavior and simultaneously have someone to blame for their undesirable behavior when functionals attempt to control it
(i.e., "I wouldn't have to get drunk if you would just quit nagging me about it!"). Ultimately, however, this rewarding
behavior, on the part of functionals, only serves to strengthen or enable the undesirable behavior. Any way you look at it,
the benefits of the relationship ultimately are seen as costs from another vantage point.
Given these paradoxical contradictions, functional partners deserve attention in the healing and recovery process as well.
Current treatment options for codependents include support groups, seminars, and workshops, as well as family,
individual, and group therapies (for review, see Riordan & Simone, 1993). Whereas many recommend group approaches
(e.g., Bogdaniak & Piercy, 1987; Cutter & Cutter, 1987; Downing & Walker, 1987), others focus treatment on the family
(e.g., Newton, 1992). With regard to the paradoxical nature of the power structure in the functional-afflicted relationship,
Palazzoli et al. (1978) and Weeks and L'Abate (1982) encouraged undermining paradoxical requests with
counterparadoxes. The counterparadox, or therapeutic double-bind, forces the client into a no-lose situation. With this
method, the therapist prescribes the very behavior that the client is trying to eradicate. This entails that the client either
gains control over the symptom by giving it up or by enacting it intentionally and voluntarily. Either way, the client
learns control. Given
 
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the success of such methods, it would be interesting to test whether the use of counterparadoxes by functional partners
empowers the afflicted in a similar manner. Several functional partners we interviewed reported such counterparadoxes in
their seemingly facetious requests that their partner continue to self-destruct (i.e., "Go ahead then, go out and get
drunksee if I care"). Future research on the effectiveness of such counterparadoxes could prove fruitful in understanding
behavioral eradication in the family.
Family treatment is consistent with an INC theory approach, emphasizing that the patterns of inconsistent nurturing and
control, and the functional's success or lack thereof, has implications for the mental health of the functional partner.
Spouses continuing to live with a partner who alternates between sobriety and drunkenness experience substantial anxiety
(e.g., Archer, 1979; Conway, 1981; Howard & Howard, 1985). Additionally, other research found that the stress effects
of living with an alcoholic partner diminish when the partner makes attempts to control his or her excessive drinking
(Edwards et al., 1973; Paolino & McCrady, 1977). Additionally, satisfying family relationships leads to greater well-
being (e.g., Coombs, 1991; Gove, Briggs Style, & Hughes, 1990). Finally, partners whose attempts are rewarded by
cessation of drinking (or otherwise undesirable behavior) should feel more in control. This greater feeling of control
translates into greater mental health.
Thus, focus of treatment should also be on functional partners, not only because they aid in the reduction of undesirable
behavior, but also because they aid in the increase of their own mental well-being. Utilizing INC theory and related
research, a communication program aimed at training families to assist with the recovery of substance-dependent (or
otherwise afflicted) members could be developed. If INC theory predictions are correct, functional partners should be
assisted in learning to diminish inconsistent control attempts directed at afflicted partners. Functional partners should also
be trained concerning which communication behaviors are likely to be experienced as rewarding and punishing, as
reported by individuals in such situations. Additionally, future research is necessary to examine such a program's
effectiveness in reducing drug recidivism as well as other undesirable behaviors. If the theory holds, this communication
training program could be based on the fully cataloged range of reinforcing and punishing macrononverbal, macroverbal,
micrononverbal, and microverbal strategies discovered in INC theory research.
For such a training program to be complete, future research efforts should endeavor to examine the micro-aspects of
control attempts in the functional-afflicted relationship. This could be accomplished through examination of both
microverbal and micrononverbal influence strategies. These strategies could be organized in reinforcing and punishing
categories
 
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to determine whether intermittent reinforcement and punishment manifest themselves during conversations between
functionals and afflicteds, in which the functionals are trying to alter the afflicteds' deviant behaviors. Given the large
impact that functional partners have been shown to have on drug-addicted partners' recidivism, it is time for
communication to be utilized as an aid in the reduction of undesirable behavior.

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IV
ABUSING
 
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7
Sexual Coercion in Courtship Relations
Brian H. Spitzberg
San Diego State University

Communication and Consent

In response to a more politically correct social environment, media reports of widespread sexual coercion and violence,
and a long overdue redress of a gender disparate system of courtship relations, Antioch College in 1993 instituted a bold
policy of communication regulation (Glazer, 1994). Students were instructed to make explicit the requests to increase
each behavioral level of intimacy with a partner. If a person wanted to escalate intimacy from holding hands to kissing, it
should be requested overtly. If the desire were to move from kissing to petting underneath the clothes, again this should
be prefaced with a specific request to that effect. At each stage, a confirmation of the partner's affirmation is sought. The
advantages and disadvantages of such policies have been the subject of vigorous debate (e.g., Abrams & Herman, 1994;
Schwartz, 1994).
Sex, it seems, is a touchy subject. Western society increasingly came to grips with it as a biological phenomenon, but as
a social phenomenon it remains controversial and conceptually evasive. This chapter attempts to synthesize the ever
expanding scholarly literature (e.g., Allgeier, 1987; Burkhart, & Bourg, 1991; Belknap & Erez, 1995; Benson, Charlton,
& Goodhart, 1992; Berkowitz, 1994; Burkhart & Stanton, 1988; Craig, 1990;
 
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Hall, 1990; Lloyd, 1991; Lottes, 1988; Lundberg-Love & Geffner, 1989; Marshall, 1993; Muehlenhard, Harney, & Jones,
1991; Muehlenhard et al., 1992; Prentky & Knight, 1991; Thiessen & Young, 1994) regarding one of the dark sides of
sexuality: coercion. Before attempting this conceptual synthesis, it is necessary to narrow the focus of review by first
identifying a number of assumptions and qualifications for review, and second, by defining the concepts of interest.

Negotiating the Boundaries of the Phenomenon

Assumptions
There are several assumptions and limitations that affect this review. Some of these parameters reflect the nature of the
literature on sexual coercion. Others are selected to make the review more manageable. In some cases, they reveal areas
in need of further study. In all cases, it is important to recognize them as boundaries on the phenomenon under
examination.
First, with the noted exceptions, the vast majority of research to be reviewed emphasized White (cf., Belknap, 1989;
Broude & Greene, 1976; Burnam et al., 1988; Fischer, 1987; Giacopassi & Dull, 1986; Moore, Nord, & Peterson,, 1989;
Sorenson & Siegel, 1992; South & Felson, 1990; Zimmerman, Sprecher, Langer, & Holloway,, 1995), North American
(cf., Foo & Margolin, 1995; Gavey, 1991; Koss, Heise, & Russo, 1994; Rozée, 1993; Tang, Critelli, & Porter, 1993;
Yoshihama & Sorenson, 1994), upper middle class (cf., Alder, 1985; Belknap, 1989; Hall & Flannery, 1984),
heterosexual (cf., Baier, Rosenzweig, & Whipple, 1991; Brand & Kidd, 1986; Comstock, 1991; Kalichman & Rompa,
1995; Renzetti, 1988, 1992), adolescent and young adult (cf., Best, Resnick, Saunders, & Lipovsky, 1992; DiVasto et al.,
1984; George, Winfield, & Blazer, 1992; Kilpatrick, Saunders, Veronen, Best & Von, 1987; Koss, Woodruff, & Koss,
1991; Laumannn, Gagnon, Michael, & Michaels, 1994; Moore et al., 1989; Sorenson, Stein, Siegel, Golding, & Gurnam,
1987; Winfield et al., 1990) subjects. This is perhaps not surprising, given the convenience and natural relevance of
college students to the study of dating, courtship, and sexual relations. However, it places considerable restrictions on the
types of generalizations that can be drawn from the research.
Second, partly as a consequence of this first restriction and partly because of the potential differences in motives, power,
and cultural norms associated with other contexts, this review primarily focuses on dating and courtship contexts. This
excludes at least two important domains of
 
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research: stranger rape (e.g., Amir, 1971; Bart & O'Brien, 1985; Ellis, 1989; Katz & Mazur, 1979; Macdonald, 1971;
Marshall, Laws, & Barbaree, 1990; and McCahill, Meyer & Fischman, 1979) and marital rape (e.g., Allison &
Wrightsman, 1993; Peacock, 1995; Russell, 1982b, 1991; Yllö & Finkelhor, 1985). The issue of acquaintance rape
(Parrot & Bechhofer, 1991) is an ambiguous category. Acquaintance rape is often equated with date rape, although they
are clearly distinguishable in many cases. A platonic friend is an acquaintance, but not a courtship partner. A friend of a
courtship partner is a potential rapist, but may not be an intended lover. Family members and relatives are generally
acquaintances as well as potential rapists. Acquaintance merely concerns whether the perpetrator is known to the victim.
Courtship and dating imply a context in which the person who is known is an object of attraction and a potentially
intimate and romantic relationship. Although the primary interest of this review is sexual coercion occurring in courtship
contexts, research will be drawn from the larger acquaintance and even stranger rape literature wherever it is considered
relevant.
The fact that coercion and rape occur in the context of courtship leads to one of the most vexing difficulties of
reasonably objective study in this area. In the context of dating and courtship, sexual relations are normatively considered
to be one of the many natural possible outcomes. Thus, the problem is the form of the act of sexual pursuit rather than
the fact of sexual intercourse itself. Unlike relations among strangers, courtship is a context in which sexual pursuit and
consent are normatively and bilaterally often expected, produced, and enjoyed. Courtship is also a context in which
sexual pursuit is often coercive and forceful. It is important, therefore, to be very careful in defining what is meant by
such terms as rape, coercion, consent and related concepts.
Frameworks for Definition
There are several different perspectives from which to conceptualize these terms, and there are social and political
implications to each (Muehlenhard, Powch, Phelps, & Guisti, 1992; Reinholtz, Muehlenhard, Phelps, & Satterfield,
1995). There are legal (see Bechhofer & Parrot, 1991; Bohmer, 1991; Dixon, 1991; Paquin, 1995), social (e.g., Cook,
1995; Cowen & Campbell, 1995; Hall, Howard, & Boezio, 1986), relational (e.g., Gavey, 1992; Metts & Spitzberg,
1996), and individual (e.g., Cahoon & Edmonds, 1992; Klemmack & Klemmack, 1976; Koss, 1988; McLendon et al.,
1994; Remer & Witten, 1988; Sugarman, 1994) frames for defining rape, coercion, and consent, and these frames often
reveal significantly divergent constructions of the terms.
 
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At the legal level, although there has been extensive revision of state statutes in recent years to accommodate more
sexually egalitarian values, most statutes require the fulfillment of three criteria for an act to constitute rape: sexual
intercourse (penile penetration of the vagina), lack of consent, and force or threat of force. Sexual assault, often carrying
lesser penalties, generally applies if instead of sexual intercourse some other form of sexual contact occurs. Although
lack of consent might, under ideal societal circumstances, be equated with a lack of verbal or nonverbal confirmation of
agreement, case law and jury decision making define it in terms of force, and force, in turn, is determined by degree of
resistance (Muehlenhard & Schrag, 1991). Thus, lack of consent is not often defined in actual trials as a lack of verbal
acquiescence or agreement, but in terms of whether verbal and physical resistance is offered and when it is offered. This
appears to be both a legal presumption (Bohmer, 1991) as well as a societal presumption (Langley et al., 1991; Shotland
& Goodstein, 1983). Regardless, despite the need for precision in legal contexts, ''the legal definition of consent is
usually not very helpful, because it is spare enough to require fleshing out in each individual case" (Bohmer, 1991, p.
321).
At the societal-individual level, the perceptions and definitions of rape and consent are influenced by the cultural script
surrounding courtship. In an extensive review of survey and experimental research on attitudes toward rape, Ward (1995)
drew the following conclusions:
1. More than 10% of people (and sometimes much higher percentages) surveyed believe that women can provoke
rape by their appearance or behavior; women who go out alone at night put themselves in a position to be raped;
all rapists are mentally sick and normal men do not commit rape; a woman should be responsible for preventing
her victimization; a woman cannot be forced to have intercourse against her will; and women often falsely accuse
men of rape.
2. As the perpetrator's use of force increases, the more the episode is perceived to be rape (Murnen, Perot, &
Byrne 1989; Stacy, Prisbell, & Tallefsrud, 1992).
3. As the victim's use of both verbal and nonverbal resistance increases, and the earlier resistance occurs in the
episode, the more the event is perceived to be rape, both by self (Koss, 1985) and third party judges (Shotland &
Goodstein, 1992).
4. The more injured the victim, physically and psychologically, the more the episode is perceived to be rape.
5. The use of alcohol by either party diminishes the attribution of rape.
6. Episodes are less likely to be labeled as "rape" if the perpetrator is a friend or date (Bell, Kuriloff, & Lottes,
1994; Klemmack & Klemmack, 1976; Shotland & Goodstein, 1992).
7. The more provocatively dressed, the less attractive, the greater the sexual experience, the less cautious, and the
more emotionally expressive victims (i.e., women) are, the more responsibility (i.e., blame) they are attributed
with in the episode.
 
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In general, when sex differences are found, relative to females, males tend to view responsibility as being more shared
rather than exclusively the perpetrator's fault; males are also less prone to label coercive events as "rape" (Bell et al.,
1994; Calhoun, Selby, Cann, & Keller, 1978; Gerdes, Dammann, & Heilig, 1988; Jacobson; 1981; Kanekar, Shaherwalla,
Franco, Kumbu, & Pinto, 1991; cf. Cahoon & Edmonds, 1992; McLendon et al., 1994).
An important and often overlooked qualification to such claims is that most peoplemale and femalecomply when sexual
advances are rejected (Byers, 1988; Byers & Lewis, 1988; O'Sullivan & Byers, 1993), reject the legitimacy of rape, and
blame the perpetrator (almost always depicted as male) in coercive vignettes (Fischer, 1986; Gerdes et al., 1988),
especially as coerciveness of the perpetrator increases (Goodchilds, Zellman, Johnson, & Giarrusso, 1988; Harris &
Weiss, 1995). For whatever set of reasons, "as many as 40-60% of attempts at sexual aggression in courtship are
unsuccessful" (Metts & Spitzberg, 1996, p. 73). Although the vast majority of people view rape as wrong under "any
circumstances" (Cook, 1995; Goodchilds et al., 1988), when specific conditions are specified (e.g., "He spends a lot of
money on her," "He's so turned on he can't stop," "She says she's going to have sex with him then changes her mind,''
"She's led him on," etc.), the percentages of respondents categorically rejecting forcible sex decreases among both males
and females (Cook, 1995; Goodchilds et al., 1988). Such beliefs are closely related to rape myths, and some evidence
indicates that females overestimate the extent to which males hold such beliefs (Cahoon & Edmonds, 1992; Cahoon,
Edmonds, Spaulding, & Dickens, 1995; Edmonds & Cahoon, 1993).
At the relational level, it is particularly difficult to circumscribe the boundaries of courtship rape. For example, a large
percentage of victims do not attribute the label of "rape" to what otherwise meets the legal or behavioral definition of
rape (see Koss, 1988; Layman, Gidycz, & Lynn, 1996; Murnen et al., 1989), and the vast majority of males do not
consider their own such actions to be rape (Koss, 1988). Sizable percentages also continue dating (Johnson & Sigler,
1996; Murnen et al., 1989) and having sex with (Koss, 1988; Koss, Dinero, Seibel, & Cox, 1988; Layman et al., 1996)
the perpetrator of courtship rape. In one study, although subjects on average perceived coercive episodes to be rape, the
more prior sex the woman was described as having with the male, the less prone it was to be defined as rape (Shotland &
Goodstein, 1992).
Defining the Coerciveness Continuum
If the perception of coercion depends substantially on one's attitudinal and cultural frame of reference, then it is important
to attempt a set of
 
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conceptual definitions to provide touchstones for comparison and synthesis of findings. This is not a simple task (see,
e.g., Muehlenhard et al., "Definitions . . ." 1992). For the purposes of this review, coerciveness is aligned along a
continuum from rape to sexual aggression or contact, to sexual coercion, to unwanted sex, and to consensual sex. To a
large extent, this continuum is one that ranges from degree of force and violation, on one end, to degree of choice and
legitimacy on the other. It is, in short, intended primarily as a continuum of coerciveness.
What is Consent?
The concept of consent has been problematic for centuries (Brundage, 1993) and continues to be a central fulcrum on
which sexual relations are balanced (Adams, 1996; Harris, 1996; Pineau, 1996; Wells, 1996). Muehlenhard (1996), in
reviewing such domains as commitment of the mentally ill and participation of experimental subjects, concluded that
there are at least two conditions to consent: It requires knowledge and free choice. Knowledge implies that the consenting
party knows what is being consented to and has all relevant information. Thus, deception, selective disclosure, or pursuit
of compliance beyond that which is implied by previous messages suggest nonconsentual intercourse. Free choice
implies a true ability to decide whether to participate, free of undue influence. Thus, a subordinate or student may not be
entirely free to choose when the pursuer is a boss or professor. Obviously, being under the influence of alcohol, rohypnol,
or other mind-altering substances to the extent that persons are no longer in control of their decision-making faculties
constitutes a condition in which full knowledge and free choice are significantly impaired and cannot be assumed.
In addition, Muehlenhard (1996) pointed out that consent differs from acquiescence. Factors such as the value of
preserving one's standard of living, maintaining one's interpersonal status, the value of being in a relationship, the
cultural value of heterosexuality, and the available societal discourses of legitimate options influence a person's perceived
freedom of choice. People may give in to sex rather than freely engage in it because of numerous forces such as these,
real or perceived. True consent, therefore, is by this conceptualization, a very reflective, conscious act, whether that
reflection occurs well before what later becomes spontaneous during the episode itself.
This perspective seems rooted in the mental aspect of consent. Sex and consent, however, are also interactional
phenomena (see Adams, 1996; Harris, 1996; Pineau, 1996). People search for interactional cues of consent, and often,
offering no resistance, or even such behaviors as french kissing and genital fondling, constitute evidence of consent in
people's eyes
 
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(Schultz & DeSavage, 1975). People also use a variety of cues to indicate a lack of consent, from explicit refusals to
subtle nonverbal distancing behaviors (Byers & Lewis, 1988; O'Sullivan & Byers, 1992, 1993). Thus, although explicit
verbal consent may not always be offered (Greer & Buss, 1994; Jesser, 1978) and may seem awkward in the context of
romance, it still appears to be the best evidence of consent. As Haffner (1996) enjoined, "The essence of consent for
sexual relationships is communicationhonest, open, direct communicationabout interests, expectations, hopes, desires,
and consequences" (p. 2).
A Continuum of Coerciveness
"Sexual activity has been construed along a continuum of coerciveness ranging from voluntary, to altruistic, to verbally
coerced, to physically coerced" (Muehlenhard & Cook, 1988, p. 58). This continuum is reflected in intuitive senses of the
severity of coercion employed and is reflected in the most common measure of sexual victimization (Koss & Oros,
1982). However, there is surprisingly little effort to validate this continuum (Porter & Critelli, 1992) or to explore the
implicit and explicit characteristics of its underlying conceptual dimension (cf. Christopher, 1988; Kelly, 1987, 1988).
Part of the problem is the variance in the ways labels and terms have been used. Unwanted sex means sexual coercion in
one project (e.g., Lewin, 1985) and merely sex that was not wanted in another (e.g., Muehlenhard & Cook, 1988). An
attempt is made to provide a conceptual continuum of coercion and to explicate briefly its underlying dimension (see Fig.
7.1). It should be noted that the categories are not intended to be mutually exclusive and in many instances, a given
experience seems to straddle several categories. The continuum is presented to suggest the breadth of strategies involved
in sexual violence and to presage the estimation of sexual coercion in society.
Violated Nonconsent. Several strategies of consent violation are represented in the literature. Rape is defined here as
sexual intercourse (vaginal or anal penetration) without consent and with force or threat of force.

Fig. 7.1.
A continuum of sexual compliance types.
 
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Attempted rape is an unsuccessful attempt at rape. Sexual contact is applied here to forms of sexual activity other than
intercourse (i.e., penetration) that occur without consent and with force or threat of force (e.g., petting, fondling,
disrobing, kissing, etc.). Sexual pressure, often referred to as sexual coercion, consists of dispreferred sex in the context
of implicit or explicit messages that the person should have sex. These messages may be cultural and societal, but to be
considered coercive, they must have specific communicative manifestations in the form of peer pressure, persistent
arguments or nonverbal passes from one's partner, or symbolic or face-impairing contingent threats (Tedeschi & Felson,
1994). Sexual pressure includes actions such as continual arguments, getting a partner to drink alcohol, threatening to
end the relationship, and threatening to leave the person stranded without a ride.
Acquiescence. The dividing line between giving in to pressure and acquiescing to sexual invitation may be diaphinous.
Nevertheless, unwanted sex occurs when someone decides to engage in sexual relations without persistent or obvious
resistance despite a concomitant conscious preference to avoid having sex (see Muehlenhard & Cook, 1988; Murnen et
al., 1989; cf. Lewin, 1985). A person may engage in unwanted sex for any number of social, cultural, or relational
reasons (see Muehlenhard & Cook, 1988) and specific coercive messages need not be manifest. Presumably, the reasons
for having sex (despite a dispreference for having it) are motivated by both egocentric and altercentric reasons. A person
may want to please the other person (or avoid their anger or disappointment) or may merely desire to avoid the hassle of
an argument that may ensue. Deceptive sex occurs when a person voluntarily has sex with an actor because the actor has
portrayed himself, herself, or the situation in a false or misleading manner. For example, promising to marry someone or
falsely professing love are sometimes strategies for obtaining sex; yet if the truth were known, sex would not occur.
Consent. Consensual sex consists of consciously and mutually agreed on sexual relations in the context of reasonably
accurate mutual understanding of intentions. The assumption is that the parties voluntarily and consciously engaged in
"negotiated sexual involvement" (Metts & Spitzberg, 1996, p. 60), regardless of the implicitness of this negotiation. It is
not clear to experts or interactants the extent to which consent should be considered in an affirmative sense or if lack of
any resistance to pursuit can reasonably be taken as evidence of consent (e.g., Schultz & DeSavage, 1975). For example,
in Canada (Altman, cited in Gilbert, 1995, p. xii), and presumably at Antioch college, rape is considered intercourse
without "affirmative consent."
 
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Respected Nonconsent. Refused sex here refers to the situation in which a person turns down an offer or pursuit of sex
and this refusal is respected. Relatedly, accepted token resistance occurs when sex is offered or pursued, desired by both
parties, but quashed by an insincere message of verbal and/or nonverbal refusal. Sex could have occurred, but the script
being followed by the pursued is not recognized as only a script by the pursuer (Metts & Spitzberg, 1996). Interestingly,
accepted token resistance is a conceptual opposite of deceptive sex, in that a deceptive message is accepted as truthful
and consequently sex does not occur. In contrast, although not apparent in the literature, the hypothetical entity of
foregone sex is employed here to represent situations in which sex is clearly offered or pursued, and due to ambigous
comprehension or diversion of the actors, does not occur. It is a missed opportunity for sexual relations that is missed for
reasons that are probably not even apparent to the actors themselves.
Some of these definitions are heavily influenced by a common measurement schema (Koss & Oros, 1982; Koss, Gidycz,
& Wisniewski, 1987). However, several of these terms are also defined more in terms of an assumption of a hypothetical
underlying continuum of (non)consent, and thus, a continuum of coerciveness (see Fig. 7.1). The assumption is that the
continuum of foregone sex to rape is a continuum of respected consent to violated nonconsent. In some cases, sex ought
to occur and does not, and in others, sex ought not to occur and does. Wedged obscurely in the relative middle is the
idealized consensual sex, in which the participants feel comfortable that they know what they need to know about the
other(s) and their intentions, and all parties concur that sex is a desired activity. It is important to note that no assumption
is made that seriousness, severity, or psychological harm are aligned in the same way as the coerciveness. A person may
experience just as much trauma from deceptive sex as from attempted rape. Whether there is any correlation between
coerciveness and personal effects of the sexual act is an empirical question that has yet to be studied adequately, although
one review indicates that increasing coerciveness is associated with increased trauma (Wyatt, Newcomb, & Riederle,
1993).
An attempt has been made in these working definitions to avoid obvious gendering (i.e., viewing sex as only heterosexual
or as only being with female victims) or traditionalizing (i.e., presuming only two people are having sex) of the act.
Males are clearly capable of being victimized as well as females (e.g., Groth & Burgess, 1980; Kalichman & Rompa,
1995; Letellier, 1994; Mezey & King, 1989; Sarrel & Masters, 1982; Struckman-Johnson, 1988; Struckman-Johnson,
Rucker, Bumby, & Donaldson, 1996; Waterman, Dawson, & Bologha, 1989), and not all rape occurs as a one-on-one
situation (e.g., gang rape, see Amir, 1971; O'Sullivan, 1991).
 
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What is Coercion?
Coercion itself, despite its centrality to many writings on sexual courtship and violence (e.g., Grauerholz & Koralewski,
1991) has not been clearly defined (Craig, 1990). According to the Compact Oxford English Dictionary (OED), coercion
refers to "constraint, restraint, compulsion; the application of force to control the action of a voluntary agent." "In
everyday language, to be coerced is to be compelled under duress or threat to do something `against our will'" (Sidman,
1989, p.31). Because physical force is viewed as one of many forms of duress or negative sanction (Roloff, 1996), rape
through physical force is a subset of the coerciveness continuum. Certain feminist treatments make expansive statements
about physical coercion (e.g., Clark & Lewis, 1977), but generally make few explicit claims about its interactional forms
(cf., Gavey, 1992). Others define it very expansively"any sexual behavior that is forced upon an unwilling victim'' (Baron
& Richardson, 1994, p. 282). An extensive review of conceptual and methodological treatments of coercion reveals vast
diversity (Craig, 1990).
One of the more extensive treatments is offered by Tedeschi and Felson (1994), who defined coercion as an action "taken
with the intent of imposing harm on another person or forcing compliance. Threats, bodily force, and punishments are the
three types of coercive actions" (p. 348). The gray area of "threats" and "punishments" expand beyond brute physical
force and into the realm of symbolic inducements. Tedeschi and Felson identified three possible areas of harm that may
be threatened or inflicted: physical (direct physical or biological damage), deprivation (restriction of valued opportunities
available to the victim), and social (impairment of the actor's desired face or social identity).
Muehlenhard and Schrag's (1991) analysis of coercion identified two basic formsindirect and direct. Indirect includes all
those pressures and inducements towards an implicit or explicit mandate of heterosexuality and of having sex. Thus, the
degree to which society monolithically defines monogamy, heterosexuality, and sex as the primary ends of courtship is
viewed as a strong cultural imperative that coerces people into having sex, forms of sex, or sex with certain types of
partners. Furthermore, forms of inducement, such as fear of male reprisal, loss of status, economic loss, and so forth, also
form indirect forms of coercion. Unfortunately, these forms represent widely discrepant modes of influence. A person
who engages in sex because society produces a climate that reinforces heterosexual sex as a natural phase of a dating
relationship is in a radically different situation than when a boss engages in implicit quid pro quo sexual harassment. In
the former, society is partially (but still ambiguously) held to account, whereas in the latter, a particular person is
influencing the victim and has
 
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particular punishments to employ in an implicitly contingent manner in the process of influence.
According to Muehlenhard and Schrag (1991), direct coercion occurs through verbal, chemical, or spontaneous means.
Verbal coercion involves such things as threats to end the relationship, persistent arguments, making the victim feel
guilty, questioning the person's sexual orientation, claiming biological necessity, and threatening to do self-harm.
Coercion can also involve the use of alcohol or other drugs to diminish a person's ability to make decisions. The third
form of direct coercion is labeled "rape without force," and involves a person spontaneously engaging in sexual activity,
despite the victim's expression of dispreference. In essence, the perpetrator simply starts doing it copulating against the
victim's explicit protest.
These varied conceptualizations of coercion identify at least two dimensions of coercion that frequently and ambiguously
intertwineintention and behavior. On the intention continuum, coercion is defined by the extent to which the victim's
expressed preferences are ignored, disregarded, or simply violated. On the behavioral continuum, tactics are viewed as
coercive to the extent that they are deceptive, exploitative, unilateral, or forceful. In all cases, the presumption is that the
outcome of sex is a dispreferred alternative of the victim and a preferred outcome of the perpetrator. Interestingly, none
of these dimensions alone are satisfactory as a definition of coercion. Force alone can be a preferred feature of sexual
encounters (e.g., sadomasochism), and pursuer's preferences are often violated through simple refusal that is respected by
the participants. Thus, sexual coercion is the expressed dispreferred inducement of sexual relations through force, threat
of force, deceit, or the practical removal of choice from the victim. Rape, sexual aggression, and some unwanted sex
represent subsets of the coercion continuum, which ranges, hypothetically, from mild dispreference and minor
inducement to extreme dispreference and severe inducement. Behaviors cannot be aligned to permanent points along this
continuum because preference and severity are subjective. For example, Struckman-Johnson and Struckman-Johnson
(1991) found that although all five coercive strategies they studied (i.e., verbal, stimulation, mock force, intoxication, and
physical force) tended to be viewed as unacceptable, there were significant differences due to tactic type, gender of rater,
gender of tactic initiator and interaction effects with level of sexual precedence in the relationship.

The Scope and Significance of the Problem

If it seems laborious to identify the nature of sexual coercion, it is even more fraught with difficulty to estimate the true
magnitude of the
 
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problem in society. One approach is to trust certain methods, instruments, and studies. Another is to trust the law of large
numbers. The attempt is made here to trust the latter more. The following sections are interpretations made on the basis of
summarizing 95 studies offering empirical estimates of the incidence of various forms of sexual coercion, inclusively
covering over 80,000 subjects.
Incidence of Sexual Coercion
Given the many problems identified in defining coercion, it is understandably difficult to estimate the extent of coercion
in society (Koss, 1996). "In viewing sexual violence as a continuum ... research on incidence becomes both a wider and a
more complex area of investigation" (Kelly, 1987, p. 52). An attempt by Spitzberg (1997a) was made to provide the most
reliable base for estimation. Over 95 studies that provided some form of comparable empirical estimate of sexual
coercion were summarized in tabular form. The definitions and statistical reporting practices varied widely, requiring
extensive interpretation and interpolation. The category of sexual coercion itself is distinct from the definition previously
offered because the literature heavily relies on the nomenclature of the Sexual Experiences Survey. Furthermore,
summary estimates (see Table 7.1) are generalized across time periods (e.g., "since the age of 16," "since high school,"
''during your lifetime," etc.), age of subject samples (e.g., adolescents, college, adults), and other sample characteristics
(e.g., ethnicity, gender orientation, etc.). Consequently, it is still premature to place great confidence in these
extrapolations. However, collectively, this summary represents a much larger sample of persons (over 83,000) and
studies (over 95) than previous attempts at estimation. In addition, initial analyses reveal surprisingly few statistical
differences based on such categories as date of study, duration since victimization, and type of sample (e.g., college vs.
adult). To the extent that the numbers are reasonably accurate and classified appropriately, the summary statistics offer
several intriguing conclusions.
First, by virtue of the research design and priority, it is obvious that the prevailing zeitgeist of sexual coercion is strongly
gender asymmetric. Specifically, males are rarely viewed as victims relative to females, and females are virtually
inconceivable as perpetrators. Judging strictly from this pattern, one would expect, and one does indeed find, that females
report rates of victimization much higher than males.
Second, average female rape victimization is over 13%, and male victimization is close to 4% (Table 7.1). This does not
represent the occurrence of repeated incidents of victimization for a given person, which may
 
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TABLE 7.1.
Statistical Summary Data Derived From the Appendix (N = 99 Study Samples).
Female Female Male Male General
Victimization Perpetration Victimization Perpetration Victimization
Mean Std. Mean Std. Mean Std. Mean Std. Mean Std.
Deviation Deviation Deviation Deviation Deviation
(Study N) (Study N) (Study N) (Study N) (Study N)
Rape 13.33
NA 3.58 4.73 8.80
7.39 3.70 5.14
(48) (12) (11)
Attempted 18.40
Rape NA 5.67 11.33 NA
12.81 7.01 8.74
(30) (6) (3)
Sexual 22.24
Assault 3.67 8.00 10.67 8.50
18.59 3.06 2.71 8.82
(17) (3) (4) (6)
Sexual 23.57
Contact 8.75 6.17 13.40 9.00
20.72 9.67 4.71 16.26
(21) (4) (6) (10)
Sexual 25.00
Coercion 29.00 23.18 24.30 29.00
17.99 0.00 23.57 17.76
 (27) (1) (11) (10)
Source: Adapted from Spitzberg (1997a).

be substantial (Sorenson, Siegel, Golding, & Stein, 1991). The female-to-male victimization ratios of sexual assault
(22.24/8.0 = 2.78) and attempted rape (18.40/5.67 = 3.25) are somewhat similar to that of rape (13.33/3.58=3.72). The
ratio is highest for sexual contact (23.57/6.17 = 3.82), perhaps suggesting that males often make "moves" in courtship
that make sexual contact, but stop short of rape or assault, presumably because of female resistance. The ratio
(25.00/23.18=1.08) is actually close to unity for sexual coercion (typically defined as sex through persistence of
arguments, intoxication, or use of authority). Thus, although the rates are generally gender asymmetric, they do not
appear so divergent as to exclude the importance of studying male victims and female perpetrators.
 
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Third, the ratios of female victimization to incidence of male perpetration for rape (13.33/4.73 = 2.82), attempted rape
(18.40/11.33 = 1.62), and sexual contact (23.57/13.40 = 1.76), are high but are virtually isomorphic for sexual coercion
(25.00/24.50 = 1.03). If these findings continue to be replicated, it is highly suggestive that the traditional assumption of
strong self-report biases operating to underestimate male perpetration may need to be specified more rigorously.
In a relevant aside, several authors alarmingly viewed the findings that large percentages (27%-60%) of males indicate
some "likelihood of raping" if they were assured of anonymity (e.g., Briere & Malamuth, 1983; Malamuth, 1981, 1989;
Petty & Dawson, 1989; Tieger, 1981). However, other studies indicate that males overwhelmingly reject the legitimacy of
rape (Cook, 1995; Mills & Granoff, 1992; Szymanski, Devlin, Chrisler, & Byse, 1993). Furthermore, likelihood of raping
measures may correlate to acceptance of rape myths, but not to actual reported sexually coercive behavior (Greendlinger
& Byrne, 1987). Indeed, in their nationally representative survey, Laumann et al. (1994) found that less than 0.5% of
males and females "found either forcing another or being forced to have sex very appealing ..." (p. 160) The data in
Table 7.1 are suggestive that "the use of coercive strategies by men is more the exception than the rule" (Quinn, Sanchez-
Hucles, Coates, & Gillen, 1991, p. 25), and perhaps, by extension, that "most discrepancies in the desired levels of sexual
intimacy do not result in the use of coercion'' (O'Sullivan & Byers, 1996, p.64).
Fourth, the estimate of the percentage of all rapes that occur on dates reported by Spitzberg (1997a) is 14%. If the
population estimate of female rape victimization is close to 13%, and 14% of this occurs in dating contexts, then it gives
what is probably a reasonable estimate of the extent of courtship rape. The population estimate for experience of date
rape would be around 1.5%. However, it should also be noted that some studies differentiate "date" from "lover,"
"spouse," and "good friend" perpetrators, any of which may involve courtship.
Fifth, the variances across studies are generally large, and for certain categories, they are huge. This suggests that type of
sample, design, year of study, and perhaps regional characteristics mediate estimates of incidence. Several statistical tests
were attempted relating year or decade of study on female rape victimization and no significant relationships emerged,
suggesting that there is no consistent trend in this statistic over time. However, a more complete analysis of this data is
beyond the scope of this chapter.
Sixth, the variances across studies also represent conceptual problems with the operationalization of the categories. The
modal measure is clearly some version of Koss' Sexual Experiences Survey (SES), which has been the basis of extensive
debate (e.g., Gilbert, 1991, 1993, 1995; Gylys &
 
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McNamara, 1996; Koss, 1992a, 1992b, 1993; Porter & Critelli, 1992; Ross & Allgeier, 1996). Other analyses identified
the considerable extent to which definitions affect estimates (e.g., Muehlenhard, Sympson, Phelps, & Highby, 1994) and
understanding (e.g., Craig, 1990). The SES avoids some demand effects by avoiding the terms rape, attempted rape, and
so forth. Instead, it provides 10 to 12 behavioral descriptions (e.g., "Have you ever had sexual intercourse with a man
[woman] when you [she] didn't really want to because you [she] felt pressured by his [your] continual arguments?") and
subjects who answer "yes" to any of certain groups of these descriptions constitute victims of one of the four basic
categories (i.e., rape, attempted rape, sexual contact, sexual coercion). Given this type of measure, subjects who answer
"yes" to certain of these descriptions were compared to subjects who self-attribute the label of having been raped. These
latter victims are referred to as "unacknowledged victims" (e.g., Koss, 1985, 1988, 1989). Unacknowledged victims have
reported less forceful encounters, less resolute refusal, and lower trauma (Layman et al., 1996).
Effects of Sexual Coercion
Most research on effects has emphasized rape and attempted rape, with strangers or acquaintances. Far less research
investigated the effects of other forms of sexual coercion in courtship contexts. Sexual experiences in general, whether
coercive or noncoercive, can have ambivalent effects, both when experienced in childhood and in adolescence
(Kilpatrick, 1992; Wyatt et al., 1993). Furthermore, most effects research has been cross-sectional in design. There is the
possibility that people who are anxious, fearful, depressed, psychotic, distrusting, and so forth put themselves at greater
risk of sexual coercion in various ways. However, conceptually, there is strong reason to expect the causal order of sexual
violation leading to trauma. The weight of the evidence, especially the longitudinal research, has largely been supportive
of this causal order.
Rape trauma has been studied across a vast array of somatic, sociobehavioral, psychological, and affective realms. More
recently, these various traumas were viewed as manifestations of a posttraumatic stress disorder related specifically to
rape (Burgess & Holmstrom, 1974; Gidycz & Koss, 1991a, 1991b; Kilpatrick, Edmunds, & Seymour, 1992; Kilpatrick,
Veronen, et al., 1987). Among the somatic symptoms studied include physical injury, stomach irritability, genito-urinary
disturbance (e.g., vaginal discharge, burning with urination, etc.), sleep disorders, and loss of appetite (Burgess &
Holmstrom, 1974). Among the affective symptoms noted are fear and anxiety (Gidycz, Coble, Latham, & Layman, 1993;
Kelly & DeKeseredy, 1994; Kilpatrick, Resick, & Veronen, 1981), depression (Gidycz et al., 1993; Kilpatrick et al.,
1992), anger, phobias (e.g., agora-
 
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phobia, fear of being alone, fear of sex, etc.), panic disorders, and obsessive-compulsive disorders. Among the
psychological symptoms are included lower self-esteem, suspicion, distrust, confusion, guilt, desire for revenge, suicide
ideation (Gidycz & Koss, 1989, 1991a; Kilpatrick et al., 1985; Mezey & King, 1989; Resick, 1993), and generally
lowered psychological adjustment (Roth, Wayland, & Woolsey, 1990; Santello & Leitenberg, 1993). Among the
sociobehavioral symptoms are changing one's daily routine and movements, changing one's telephone number and
address, suicide attempts, and alcohol and drug abuse (Kilpatrick et al., 1992; Mezey & King, 1989).
Some research indicates that many victims experience a significant decrease in symptomology within months of the
episode, but compared to nonvictims, generally remain at elevated levels for long periods of time (George, Veronen, &
Resick, 1992; Kilpatrick et al., 1981; Kilpatrick et al., 1979; McCahill et al., 1979; Resick, 1993; Valentiner, Foa, Riggs,
& Gershuny, 1996). In one of the few studies of male victims, it was found that males perceive far less negative short-
term impact of unwanted sex than do females, and they are less likely to report long-term impacts (Struckman-Johnson,
1988). Male victims may view coercion as both highly unpleasant and inappropriate, but not necessarily traumatic
(Struckman-Johnson & Struckman-Johnson, 1996). This is likely to be highly contextual, however, as other studies of
male victims of sexual coercion find that large percentages report experiencing very negative effects (Hillman, O'Mara,
Raylor-Robinson, & Harris, 1990; Struckman-Johnson et al., 1996) and a small study of male rape victims found "a wide
range of distressing and disabling symptoms often experienced for years afterwards" (Mezey & King, 1989, p. 207).
Some research also indicates that experience of sexual coercion in childhood (see Kendall-Tackett, Williams, &
Finkelhor, 1993) is more traumatic than experience as an adult (e.g., Burnham et al., 1988). Finally, what little research
explored the relationship generally found minor or no differences in the trauma experienced by stranger rape victims
compared to acquaintance or date rape victims (e.g., Koss et al., 1988; Roth et al., 1990; cf. Katz, 1991).
Another intriguing and poorly understood finding is that the experience of sexual victimization appears to be a risk factor
for future sexual victimization. In one study, Gidycz, Hanson, & Layman, (1995) observed:
"Women who had a history of victimization were 1.5-2 times more likely to be victimized during their first
quarter of participation than those women without a history of victimization. Furthermore, women who were
victimized during their initial quarter of participation were approximately three times as likely as those not
victimized during that time to be revictimized during their second quarter of participation. (p. 24)
 
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Other studies reveal that victimization is often not a one-time occurrence (Kelly & DeKeseredy, 1994; Koss et al., 1991;
Russell, 1982a; Sorenson et al., 1991).
Excellent reviews are available on the effects of rape and sexual coercion (Koss & Harvey, 1991; Resick, 1993). The
conclusions of these reviews, and of the vast majority of the studies performed, is that rape has significant and often
devastating effects on female victims. These effects are most serious shortly after the victimization, but continue for
extended periods of time. Importantly, acquaintance rape may have effects as serious as stranger rape, at least
psychologically (Wiehe & Richards, 1995); attempted rape and sexual coercion can be equally traumatic as rape itself
(Arata & Burkhart, 1996). Finally, it is significant that in addition to the impact that coercion has on its direct victims,
nonvictims, especially women, often live in a more fearful and constrained world because of the possibility of sexual
violence (Bohmer & Schwarz, 1996; Cook, 1995; Kelly & DeKeseredy, 1994; Stanko, 1990).
Sexual coercion is obviously a significant problem that adversely affects a significant number of people. Yet, the
problem is still not well-understood in terms of its causes. Several theories have been developed to account for sexual
coercion. These theories are not necessarily mutually exclusive and may even be complementary. Strangely, few studies
of sexual coercion explicitly claim to be testing theories.

Theories of Sexual Coercion

"Most sexual coercion research has been conducted atheoretically" (Byers & O'Sullivan, 1996, p. 3). However, in what
work has been done, theories of sexual coercion can be roughly aligned along a continuum of determinism, from
dispositional theories that seek the cause in distant evolutionary processes genetically reinforced over millenia through
selective courtship processes to episodic theories that locate the cause of the sexual coercion purely in the dynamics of
the coercive context itself (see Fig. 7.2). These characterizations are somewhat oversimplified for the purpose of review,
but also represent basic themes common to the theories identified. A thorough examination of theories of sexual coercion
is beyond the scope of this review (see Allgeier, 1987; Baron & Straus, 1989; Burkhart & Fromuth, 1991; Craig, 1990;
Ellis, 1989; Muehlenhard et al., 1992; Nurius & Norris, 1996; Stock, 1991).
Biological Theories
Biological theories generally presume the relevance of natural selection on reinforcing adaptive mating strategies over
time (Buss, 1994; Malamuth,
 
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Fig. 7.2.
Explanatory loci and exemplars of sexual coercion theories.
1996; Smuts, 1996; Thornhill, 1996; Thornhill & Thornhill, 1992). Given the asymmetric nature of pregnancy, gestation,
and childrearing, and the evolutionary premium on knowing the genetic parentage of offspring, it is reasoned that males
adopted rape as a strategy in their repertoire of mating techniques. Because the male's required investment in parenting is
relatively brief, there is advantage to the male mating often and with multiple partners to assure the continuance of his
genetic lineage. Because the primary criterion is successful mating, males tend to pursue females who will become
pregnant and carry to term. This leads to a male preference for females with physical characteristics indicative of
physical health and child-bearing potential. Females, in contrast, have extensive investments in parenting and therefore,
look for signs of commitment, status, physical strength, and ability to provide. It follows that females become specialists
in gate keeping, or regulating the selectivity component of sexual pursuit, in complement to males' specialization in the
tactics of sexual pursuitamong them rape.
According to Ellis (1989), several basic hypotheses derive from evolutionary theory, including the following:
1. The tendency to rape is genetically influenced.
2. Rapes must lead to pregnancy sufficiently to outweigh the risks of punishment involved.
3. Rape victims tend to be younger (or revealing of childbearing characteristics).
4. Rapes tend to be resisted by the victim, especially when the perpetrator is sexually unattractive to the female.
5. Rapists tend to be less able to attract voluntary sexual partners.
 
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Sociocultural and Intrapsychic Theories
These categories include theories positing a crucial role of culture and socialization in the reinforcement of rape
(Warshaw & Parrot, 1991). Other theories in these categories focus on the products of these socialization practices in the
forms of values, beliefs, and personality proclivities leading to rape (e.g., Marshall, Hudson, Jones, & Fernandez, 1995;
Sarwer, Kalichman, Johnson, Early, & Akram, 1993). References to a "rape culture" are often indicative of these
theoretical orientations. These two categories blend together in many cases because society and culture are often viewed
as the source of people's attitudes, beliefs, and cognitive processing tendencies. The theoretical framework most common
to these categories is some variation on social learning theory.
Social learning theory posits that a large component of social behavior is learned through direct observation and
internalization of the behavior of models. These models are often those significant others in a person's developmental
periods, but can also be imaginative (e.g., movie or comic book characters) or somewhat peripheral (e.g., social network
or peers). To the extent that a person grows up in a context of violence, that violence becomes a normal part of that
person's repertoire for coping with the environment. To the extent that violence and coercion are revealed as
fundamentally, exclusively, or even intermittently effective tactics for coping with the social environment and are
positively reinforced (e.g., by peer group pressure or success in valued courtship outcomes such as sex), the strategies of
violence and coercion become preferred modes of interaction with the social environment. To the extent that culture
represents violence as a male tactic for dealing with females, this asymmetry continues to be reinforced in behavior.
Over time, people are socialized into appropriate role behavior, as depicted in both actual (e.g., family, peers, and society)
and imaginative (e.g., pornography, cartoons, etc.) interaction. This socialization leads (over time) to selective cognitive
organization of information in accord with the broader patterns of society. Thus, if females are primarily depicted and
reinforced for being the sexual gatekeepers and males reinforced for being the sexual pursuers, then mental
representations of these roles, and their associated plans of action appropriate to relevant goals, are abstracted to provide
efficient cognitive structures for organizing relevant social information. Such relatively stable organizations are known as
scripts and exist at personal, interpersonal and cultural levels (Gagnon, 1990).
According to Ellis (1989), social learning theory leads to several basic predictions, including: (a) rapists adhere to rape-
favorable attitudes more
 
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than nonrapists; (b) rapists reveal greater arousal to depictions of sexual violence or coercion; (c) exposure to violent
pornography increases the tendency of males to rape; and (c) the greater the exposure to pornography that is demeaning
or derogating to women, the more males adhere to similar attitudes and beliefs. Furthermore, researchers often assumed
that people who do not learn appropriate models for their sexual and communicative behavior are deficient in social skills
and thereby engage in sexual coercion for lack of more appropriate or competent tactics of courtship. Thus, (e) rapists
tend to be less socially skilled than nonrapists.
Feminism also offers a socialization theory of sexual coercion, but one sufficiently distinct from social learning to merit
attention. Although there are several versions of feminism, most assume that longstanding social and cultural traditions
were established by men to subordinate women in ways favorable to men (Brownmiller, 1975). This results in women
being deprived of their own voices through the exclusion of female access to positions of power, competence, and status
beyond those favorable to men's positions. This pattern of subordination is reflected in various forms of male exploitation
of females, including pornography, prostitution, and coercive sexuality.
Among the common types of empirical claims a feminist theory of rape would claim include (Ellis, 1989):
1. Rape is almost exclusively male-perpetrated against female victims.
2. Rape is related to status and power disparities.
3. Rape is motivated more by power than by sex.
4. Exposure to pornography and prostitution increase proclivity to rape
5. As societal sexual egalitarianism increases, rape incidence should decrease.
6. Rapists should adhere more to traditional sex-asymmetric attitudes than nonrapists.
Contextual Theories
Contextual theories are in fact rarely complete theories. Instead, they represent a complex of research investigations into
the "opportunism" of sexual coercion. Specifically, many studies and investigators hypothesize that sexual coercion and
rape are highly situational. The suggestion is that sex is a desired outcome (especially for males) and is pursued
opportunistically. The factors that affect opportunity, relative to risk, include such characteristics as: who pays for the
dating expense (Bostwick & DeLucia, 1992; Emmers & Allen, 1995b; Muehlenhard, Friedman, & Thomas, 1985;
Muehlenhard & Linton, 1987;); what kind of date it was and whose place the partners go to after the date (Copenhaver &
Grauerholz, 1991; Emmers & Allen, 1995b; Goodchilds et al., 1988; Koss, 1988; Muehlen-
 
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hard et al., 1985); the sexual suggestiveness of the female's dress (Abbey, Cozzarelli, McLaughlin, & Harnish, 1987;
Goodchilds et al., 1988; Muehlenhard & Linton, 1987); the consumption of alcohol or other psychoactive or debilitating
drugs (Abbey, 1991a, Abbey, Ross, McDuffie, & McAusian, 1996b; Ageton, 1988; Alzenman & Kelley, 1988; Amir,
1971; Boeringer, Shehan, & Akers, 1991; Canterbury et al, 1993; Carter, Prentky, & Burgess, 1988; Copenhaver &
Grauerholz, 1991; Gidycz et al., 1995; Harrington & Leitenberg, 1994; Himelein, 1995; Koss, 1988; Koss et al., 1988;
Koss & Dinero, 1989; Muehlenhard & Linton, 1987; Norris & Cubbins, 1992; Seto & Barbaree, 1995; Small & Kerns,
1993; Ward, Chapman, Cohn, White, Williams, 1991); the privacy or relative seclusion of the physical environment
(Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Emmers & Allen, 1995b; Koss, 1988; Muehlenhard & Linton, 1987; Murnen et al.,
1989; O'Sullivan & Byers, 1993; Ward et al., 1991); the day of the week (Meilman & Haygood-Jackson, 1996); and the
experience of foreplay (Kanin, 1957, 196,; 1984; Kanin & Parcell, 1977).
All of these factors were found in at least one study to increase the risk of sexual coercion. The implication is that
virtually all people (especially males) are motivated to have sex and are capable of engaging in, and being victimized by,
sexual coercion when the opportunity presents itself. Presumably the opportunity would need to be perceived as one in
which the desirability of sex offsets the potential social (e.g., spoiled reputation, or loss of friends), physical (e.g.,
resistance with mace, or physical injury from resistance), and personal (e.g., being kicked out of school or work) risks
involved. Finally, from this perspective, the experience of sexual coercion (both perpetration and victimization) is likely
to be related to the amount of sexual experience and number of sexual partners (i.e., an opportunity effect). Indeed,
studies indicate that number of previous sexual partners and experiences (Koss, 1985; Malamuth, Heavey, & Linz, 1993),
as well as previous coercion victimization (Himelein, 1995) are predictive of sexual-coercion victimization risk.
Interactional Theories
There are surprisingly few theoretical endeavors in the realm of sexual coercion that could be considered truly
interactional. The assumption of such a theory is that coercion results from the interaction, both nonverbal and discursive
(Metts & Spitzberg, 1996; Muehlenhard, 1988). In essence, biology, culture, society, cognition, and context become
relevant only through interpersonal interaction, and it is the interaction that determines the outcome. Coercion is not the
inevitable product of pre-existing forces, but of the indeterminate ebb and flow of relational and sexual negotiation.
 
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Although there is a dearth of actual theories in this domain, the presumption of interactional influence is commonly
revealed in studies of strategies, tactics, the influence of nonverbal cues and courtship discourse. The study of sexual
initiation moves, rejection moves, deception, threats, promises, sexual talk, persistent arguments, invocation of relational
debts, and evocation of social or personal guilt all reflect the game of courtship. In this sometimes fun and sometimes
dangerous game, rape is still viewed as one of the most powerful moves available, a move that carries risks, but that may
be played none the less. Core predictions from this perspective might include the following:
Sexually coercive persons hold more exploitative and game-like beliefs about gender relations than noncoercive persons.
Socially underskilled persons are more likely to employ physical coercion, whereas socially hyperskilled persons are
more likely to employ discursive and nonviolent tactics of coercion (Muehlenhard & Falcon, 1990).
The mutual tactics employed account for more variance in the outcome of coercive encounters than do individual
difference variables.
The sequential coproduction of sexual pursuit and coercion is at least as important as each individual's frequency of tactic
use in predicting sexual outcome.
Most sexual coercion encounters (short of strong physical force) in courtship are interpreted by participants as acts of
miscommunication, ambiguous resistance, overattribution of sexual interest, and mutual blame, rather than as strictly
some person's fault.
Miscommunication, typically in the forms of discounting or clarity of resistance (Koss, 1985, 1988; Koss et al., 1988),
the use of actual token resistance (Holcomb, Holcomb, Sondag, & Williams, 1991; Mills & Granoff, 1992), and
misreading of cues of sexual consent (Abbey, 1982, 1987; Abbey & Melby, 1986; Abbey et al., 1987; Baier et al., 1991;
Bridges, 1991; Byers & Lewis, 1988; Goodchilds et al., 1988; Kanin, 1957, 1969; Koeppel, Montague-Miller, O'Hair, &
Cody, 1993; Koss, 1985, 1988, Koss et al., 1988; Kowalski, 1993; Malamuth & Brown, 1994; Malamuth et al., 1993;
Muehlenhard & Andrews, 1985; Muehlenhard & Linton, 1987; Muehlenhard & MacNaughton, 1988; Muehlenhard &
McCoy, 1991; O'Sullivan & Byers, 1992; Saal, Johnson, & Weber, 1989; Shea, 1993; Shotland & Craig, 1988), are
implicated as a risk factor and a plausible causal factor in many studies. In addition, empathy (Christopher, Owens, &
Stecker, 1993; Deitz, Blackwell, Daley, & Bentley, 1982) and knowledge of victim trauma (Hamilton & Yee, 1990)
appear to diminish the likelihood of coercing another person, suggesting that interactionally oriented skills, such as
affective understanding, may be important. If sexual coercion is interactionally produced, then the communicative nature
of sexual pursuit needs elaboration.
 
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An Interactional Approach
Most of these theories were elaborated and studied, as theories, for some time. However, although strategies and tactics
are commonly studied, the assumption that the causal nature of sexual coercion is interactional in nature has seldom been
considered appropriate for scholarly effort, much less formally articulated. Research and theory in violence and
aggression is increasingly positing interactional and impression-management theories (e.g., Tedeschi & Felson, 1994).
Considerable research indicates that the strategies and tactics of sexual compliance gaining significantly influence
outcomes of courtship encounters. In addition, research on attributions of sexual coercion often reveal (mis)
communication problems as likely candidates. Finally, research on individual difference variables, although generally
revealing significant effects, also tend to reveal relatively small to moderate effects. It follows that it is time to pursue
research and theory relevant to the co-construction of sexual coercion. This may not be a very politically correct pursuit,
but to the extent that risk factors can be identified in people's behavior patterns, these risk markers will be far more
visible than psychological traits and far more precedent to the actual violence of rape and rape resistance than mace and
stun guns.
The Tactical Face of Coercion
Given the ethical constraints on studying such sensitive events as sexual coercion, most research is understandably self-
report and retrospective or imaginative in nature. With this limitation in mind, the behavior of sexual compliance gaining
is examined. The literature is disparate in measurement schemata and research intentions. Consequently, many of the
categories employed to represent sexual compliance-gaining behavior are relatively uninformative. For example,
intimidation is understood easily enough as a term, but what it looks like in terms of actual behaviors is not likely to
produce much consensus. Verbal manipulation seems an apropos summary of something many people do, yet there seem
to be so many techniques of verbal manipulation that perhaps the category does a disservice to an understanding of the
process. As a result of such divergent terminologies, it is difficult to compare findings across studies.
One way of summarizing studies is to make a general distinction between strategies and tactics. Strategies are viewed as
functional game plans or goals, with tactics as the plays and techniques by which the
 
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strategies are pursued. Thus, studies examined the use of tactical instantiations of many strategies, including enticement
or temptation (e.g., Amir, 1971; Muehlenhard & Cook, 1988; Struckman-Johnson & Struckman-Johnson, 1994: ''bribe"),
persuasion (e.g., Christopher & Frandsen, 1990: "logic and reason;" Koss, 1988: "reason;" Murnen et al., 1989; Ward et
al., 1991: "verbal"; Struckman-Johnson & Struckman-Johnson, 1994; Yegidis, 1986), punishment (e.g., Christopher &
Frandsen, 1990: "antisocial;" Struckman-Johnson & Struckman-Johnson, 1994: "love withdrawal"); verbal or
psychological pressure (e.g., Christopher & Frandsen, 1990; Koss et al., 1987; Struckman-Johnson, 1988; Struckman-
Johnson & Struckman-Johnson, 1991), threats (e.g., Christopher, 1988; Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Kanin, 1984,
1985, Koss et al., 1988; Mahoney, Shively, & Traw, 1986; Mosher & Anderson, 1986; Murnen et al., 1989; Struckman-
Johnson & Struckman-Johnson, 1994; Yegidis, 1986), intimidation (e.g., Amir, 1971; Yegidis, 1986), intoxication (e.g.,
Boeringer et al., 1991; Kanin, 1985; Mosher & Anderson, 1986; Muehlenhard & Cook, 1988; Struckman-Johnson, 1988;
Struckman-Johnson & Struckman-Johnson, 1991, 1994; Yegidis, 1986), deception (e.g., Cochran & Mays, 1990; Fischer,
1992; Kanin, 1985; McCormick, 1979; Miller & Marshall, 1987; Muehlenhard & Falcon, 1990; Poppen & Segal, 1988;
Spitzberg, Marshall, & Cupach, 1996; Struckman-Johnson & Struckman-Johnson, 1991: "mock force;" Knox, Schact,
Holt, & Turner, 1993; Tooke & Camire, 1991), persistence (e.g., Christopher, 1988; Koss et al., 1987; Mahoney et al.,
1986: "ignore protests;" Ward et al., 1991: "just did it"), physical restraint (e.g., Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991: "pin
down;" Kanin, 1984: "physical strength;" Koss, 1988: "held down;" Koss et al., 1988: "holding/twisting;" Mahoney et al.,
1986: "physically restraining;" Spitzberg et al., 1996; Struckman-Johnson, 1988; Struckman-Johnson & Struckman-
Johnson, 1994), and force (e.g., Christopher, 1988; Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Kanin, 1984; Koss, 1988; Koss et
al., 1988; Mahoney et al., 1986; Mosher & Anderson, 1986; Muehlenhard & Cook, 1988; Murnen et al., 1989; Spitzberg
et al., 1996; Struckman-Johnson, 1988; Struckman-Johnson & Struckman-Johnson, 1994; Ullman & Knight, 1992; Ward
et al., 1991; Yegidis, 1986). Finally, rape itself may be viewed as an extreme form of sexual compliance-gaining strategy
(Buss, 1996; Buss & Schmitt, 1993; Thornhill, 1996). A somewhat simpler a priori typology is in Table 7.2.
Some studies attempted, through various means, to identify reasonable typologies of strategies. McCormick (1979; see
also LaPlante, McCormick, & Brannigan, 1980) developed an a priori set of sexual pursuit and resistance strategies
consisting of reward, coercion, logic, information, manipulation, body language, deception, moralizing, relationship
conceptualizing, and seduction. Perper and Weis (1987) coded seduction essays
 
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TABLE 7.2.
A Priori Classification of Sexual Coercion Tactics Identified in the Literature
PRESSURE & PERSISTENCE
Other person was too aroused to stop (Anderson & Cummings, 1993; Byers & Eno,
1991; Miller & Marshall, 1987; Mills & Granoff, 1992; Struckman-Johnson &
Struckman-Johnson, 1991)
Verbal persuasion (George et al., 1992; Murnen et al., 1989; Sorenson et al., 1987;
Yegidis, 1986)
Bribe (Sorenson et al., 1987)
Made to feel inadequate (Poppen & Segal, 1988)
Psychological or verbal pressure (Sorenson et al., 1987; Struckman-Johnson, 1988;
Struckman-Johnson & Struckman-Johnson, 1991)
Said things to make me feel guilty
Verbal coercion (Byers & Eno, 1991)
Continual arguments (Anderson & Cummings, 1993; Miller & Marshall, 1987; Poppen
& Segal, 1988; Ward et al., 1991)
DECEPTION
Surprise
Saying things the other person doesn't mean (Anderson & Cummings, 1993)
Said things that later proved to be untrue (e.g., I love you) (Waldner-Haugrud &
Magruder, 1995)
Falsely profess love (Kanin, 1985; Kirkendall, 1961)
Falsely promise pinning, engagement, or marriage (Kanin, 1985)
Mock force (Struckman-Johnson & Struckman-Johnson, 1991)
Lies (Poppen & Segal, 1988)
Tricked (Mills & Granoff, 1992)
THREAT
Threaten to terminate relationship (love withdrawal) (Anderson & Cummings, 1993;
Kanin, 1985; Miller & Marshall, 1987; Sorenson et al., 1987)
Threaten to leave person stranded (Kanin, 1985)
Verbal threats (or blackmail) (George et al., 1992; Murnen et al., 1989; Ward et al.,
1991; Yegidis, 1986)
Threaten/intimidate by size or strength (physical intimidation) (George et al., 1992;
Mills & Granoff, 1992; Sorenson et al., 1987; Yegidis, 1986)
Threats of bodily harm or force (Anderson & Cummings, 1993; Copanhaver &
Grauerholz, 1991; George et al., 1992; Koss et al., 1988; Sorenson et al., 1987; Ward et
al., 1991)
Weapon (displayed/threatened) (Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; George et al., 1992;
Koss et al., 1988; Sorenson et al., 1987)
PHYSICAL RESTRAINT
Just did it (Ward et al., 1991)
Mild physical (Murnen et al., 1989)
Intoxication (George et al., 1992; Kanin, 1985; Mills & Granoff, 1992; Sorenson et al.,
1987; Struckman-Johnson, 1988; Struckman-Johnson & Struckman-Johnson, 1991;
Yegidis, 1986)
Physical force or restraint (Anderson & Cummings, 1993; Byers & Eno, 1991; Poppen
& Segal, 1988; Sorenson et al., 1987; Struckman-Johnson, 1988; Ward et al., 1991)
Twisting arm, holding down (Koss et al., 1988; Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991)
Pin down (Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Koss, 1988)
PHYSICAL FORCE/INJURY
Strong physical force (Murnen et al., 1989)
Physical harm (George et al., 1992; Sorenson et al., 1987)
Hitting, slapping, pushing (Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Koss, 1988; Koss et al.,
1988; Yegidis, 1986)
Choking, beating (Koss et al., 1988; Yegidis, 1986)
Weapon (used) (Ageton, 1983; Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Koss, 1988; Koss et
al., 1988; Sorenson et al., 1987; Yegidis, 1986)
Injury from a weapon

 
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into an eight strategy scheme: environmental or situational strategies (e.g., dress, drink, etc.), verbal strategies (e.g., sexy
romantic talk, compliments, etc.), nonverbal strategies (e.g., eye contact, touch, etc.), contingency strategies (e.g.,
recalcitrant male, "if-then," etc.), masculine sexual initiative (e.g., man takes over), nonproceptive themes without
masculine sexual assertion (e.g., happens naturally), sexual limitation, and experience. Hirsch and Paul (1996)
categorized mating tactics into the three broad functional strategic categories of quality (e.g., interacting with friends and
family; discussions of values and goals; and expending resources of time, effort, and money), quantity (e.g., threats,
sexual talk, physical contact, and getting her alone), and shared (e.g., flattery and promises). Quality tactics are oriented
toward long-term mate bonding, quantity tactics are oriented toward multiple short-term matings, and shared tactics are a
hybrid between these orientations. The tactics in these strategies were further coded into an ordinal continuum of
categorically honest, relatively honest, relatively exploitative, and categorically exploitative. Buss (1988) categorized 104
mating tactics into two broad categoriesintersexual, consisting of direct guarding tactics (e.g., vigilance, concealment of
mate, monopolization of mate's time, etc.), negative inducements (e.g., infidelity threat, emotional manipulation,
derogation of competitors, etc.), and positive inducements (e.g., resource display, sexual inducements, enhancement of
physical appearance, etc.), and intrasexual, including public signals of possession (e.g., verbal signals, physical signals,
ornamentation, etc.) and negative inducements (e.g., derogation of mate to competitors, threats, violence, etc.).
Several other studies attempted more dimensional approaches to strategy identification. Christopher and Frandsen (1990)
factor analyzed sexual compliance-gaining tactics and found five dimensions: antisocial (covert) antisocial (overt),
emotional and physical closeness, logic and persuasion, and pressure and manipulation. Mosher and Anderson (1986)
factor analyzed coercive tactics and derived a six-factor solution: sexual force, drugs and alcohol, verbal manipulation,
angry rejection, anger expression, and threat. Muehlenhard and Cook (1988) factor analyzed reasons for people engaging
in unwanted sex, and found many of the same types of strategies: enticement, physical coercion, intoxication, altruism,
inexperience, peer pressure, termination of relationship (threats), popularity, partner's verbal coercion, sex-role concerns,
reluctance, partner's threat of self-harm, and family pressure.
In regard to three of the strategies, there is considerable differentiation of specific tactics across studies. Deception was
studied under several guises, including falsely professing love (Kanin, 1985), making false promises (Kanin, 1985), and
mock force (e.g., Struckman-Johnson & Struck-
 
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man-Johnson, 1991). Tooke and Camire (1991) inductively developed an extensive listing of deceptive tactics, which
they categorized into two broad categories: intrasexual tactics (e.g., sexual promiscuity, indifference, appearance
alteration, exaggerated superiority, etc.) and intersexual tactics (e.g., dominance or resources, enhanced appearance or
body, sexual intentions, deception involving third parties, etc.). Threats also seem to come in many guises, including
verbal threats (e.g., Kanin, 1984; Murnen et al., 1989), threats to terminate the relationship (Muehlenhard & Cook, 1988),
threats to leave the person stranded (e.g., Kanin, 1985), threats of force (e.g., Christopher, 1988; Mosher & Anderson,
1986), threats with weapons (Amir, 1971; Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Mahoney et al., 1986; Struckman-Johnson &
Struckman-Johnson, 1994; Yegidis, 1986) and threats of bodily harm (Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Koss et al.,
1988). Force is also a highly differentiated category. In addition to types of physical restraint, it includes such tactics as
arm twisting (Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Koss et al., 1988), slapping (Koss et al., 1988), physical roughness
(Yegidis, 1986), use of fists (Kanin, 1984), hitting (Koss, 1988; Koss et al., 1988), and the use of weapons (Belknap,
1989; Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Koss, 1988; Mahoney et al., 1986; Yegidis, 1986).
As might be implied by the diversity of tactics and strategies, generalizations are rather difficult. Nevertheless, it appears
reasonable to conclude from these studies that strictly in regard to courtship sexual coercion, persistence is probably the
most common strategy. The most common forceful tactic appears to be holding the person down, relying on superior
weight, and strength (Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991), and perhaps the implicit threat of escalating force or the apparent
uselessness of resistance. Most research in the area of courtship and date rape suggests that the use of weapons is rare
(Belknap, 1989; Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Kilpatrick, 1992; Laumann et al., 1994; Mahoney et al., 1986; Yegidis,
1986; cf. Amir, 1971). Furthermore, injury, beatings, and severe physical nonsexual aggression are similarly rare
(Hannan & Burkhart, 1993; Kanin, 1984; Koss, 1988; Koss et al., 1988; Muehlenhard & Linton, 1987; cf. Belknap,
1989). Kanin's (1984) retrospective interview study of date rapists indicated that males' use of pinning the woman down
was the maximum level of violence they would have employed.
Finally, despite the considerable effort at getting subjects to report what strategies and tactics they experienced or used,
little is known about the evaluations of these behaviors. Hirsch and Paul (1996) found that subjects tend to view quantity
oriented strategies as exploitative, and quality strategies as honest. Buss (1988; Greer & Buss, 1994) found that the
tactics of being nice, kind, considerate, affectionate, and complimentary were
 
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viewed as most effective, the tactics of violence and snooping through mate's possessions were viewed as relatively
ineffective, and males and females had strikingly similar ratings of effectiveness of mating tactics.
Struckman-Johnson and Struckman-Johnson (1991) had subjects rate the acceptability of five coercive strategies as
displayed in vignettes. None of the strategies were perceived over the midpoint in acceptability, ranging on a 7-point
scale from verbal pressure (X = 3.30), stimulation (X = 3.03), mock force (X = 2.30), intoxication (X = 1.46), to physical
force (X = 1.41), although women were less accepting of all strategies than men. Rape itself is strongly rejected by
members of both sexes in terms of its acceptability (Cook, 1995), although this attitude was found to be very sensitive to
conditions, such as the extent of previous sex in the relationship, intoxication level, amount of money and/or time
invested in the relationship, clothing, foreplay, arousal (Byers, 1988; Goodchilds et al., 1988; Hall et al., 1986), ethnicity
(Fischer, 1987), attitudes about gender relations (Hall et al., 1986), and prior sexual aggression (Kanin, 1985).
The tactical face of coercion in courtship encounters is generally one of persistence, physical mismatch, physical
restraint, and implied threat. The tactical face of responses to coercion appear at least as diverse. Verbal refusal,
pleading, physical struggle and resistance, turning cold, running away or fleeing the scene, crying, and screaming are
common responses (e.g., Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Kanin, 1969; Koss, 1985; Koss et al., 1988; Murnen et al.,
1989), although a far greater variety of tactics are available (Carter et al., 1988; Furby, Fischhoff, & Morgan, 1992).
Certainly, it appears that some form of obvious resistance is offered in the vast majority of instances (e.g., Sorenson et
al., 1987), although in one study, "nothing" is noted as a response to unwanted sex in a third of the instances (Murnen et
al., 1989). In addition, in courtship contexts, resistance may be initially offered but not persistently (Kanin, 1984). It is
difficult to know if this is due to the perceived threat of resistance, the perceived uselessness of resistance, the perceived
relational costs of resistance, or some combination of these concerns.
Several binds appear to be at work in courtship encounters. People tend to go out with people to whom they are attracted
and with whom an ongoing relationship is often desired. Resistance is viewed as a threat to the pursuer's face, and yet,
without that resistance, a person becomes a victim. In general, the more direct (Metts, Cupach, & Imahori, 1992) and
distributive (Burgoyne & Spitzberg, 1992) the resistance, the more incompetent the resistance is perceived to be. Men
and women also seem to differ in their perceptions of resistance effectiveness (Brady, Chrisler, Hosdale, Osowiechi, &
Veal, 1991) and the relational implications of resistance (Motley & Reeder, 1995), although there do not appear to be
 
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substantial sex differences in the usage of resistance tactics (Emmers & Allen, 1995a; Rosenthal & Peart, 1996). The
effectiveness of resistance tactics is unclear. Some research suggests that physical resistance is effective in avoiding
sexual attack and injury (Bart, 1981), but other studies indicate that physical resistance is associated with increased injury
(Atkeson, Calhoun, & Morris, 1989), even when the coercer is an intimate (Bachman & Carmody, 1994). Active
avoidance strategies (e.g., running away or screaming) appear to be reasonably effective in acquaintance rapes (Levine-
MacCombie & Koss, 1986), although ironically, acquaintance rapes may be harder to avoid in general than stranger rapes
(Bart, 1981). Thus, women tend to view resistance as threatening to the relationship, and this risk is often viewed with
considerable ambivalence, despite the alternative of sexual victimization and the finding that most men tend not to find
sexual resistance by females very disconfirming (Motley & Reeder, 1994, 1995).
Sexual compliance-gaining and sexual compliance-resisting tactics do not occur in abstract space. They are produced and
coproduced in contexts. To the extent that people attend to contextual features in their interaction, it is assumed in the
interactional approach that contexts play a significant role in mediating the use and influence of sexual compliance-
gaining tactics. To the extent that features of the coercive interaction tend to co-occur with certain features of the context,
it evidences such a potential mediating role.
The Contextuality of Coercion
Sexual coercion is often a premeditated, willful activity. Yet, it reflects considerable contextual opportunism. The
confluence of contextual factors seems at least as important as other psychological (e.g., rape myth acceptance) and
societal factors (e.g., status incongruity) in predicting sexual coercion in courtship relations. Several contextual factors
have been identified, some rather obvious (e.g., coercion tends to occur in relatively private or secluded environments,
such as his or her place or the car; Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Emmers & Allen, 1995b; Goodchilds et al., 1988;
Koss, 1988; Muehlenhard & Linton, 1987; Murnen et al., 1989; O'Sullivan & Byers, 1993; Ward et al., 1991) and others
rather subtle (e.g., who paid for, the date, who drove, or who asked for the date; Bostwick & DeLucia, 1992; Emmers &
Allen, 1995b; Muehlenhard & Linton, 1987; Muehlenhard et al., 1985). Less formal, party-oriented dates appear to be
riskier than more formal dates (e.g., going to a theater or to dinner; Muehlenhard et al., 1985). In addition, the stage of
the dating relationship may influence the occurrence of sexual coercion, which appears more
 
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likely in early rather than later stages of dating (Kanin & Parcell, 1977, 1984; Muehlenhard & Linton, 1987; Quinn et al.,
1991). This reflects continuing findings that males tend to expect sexual intercourse to occur sooner in relationships
(Knox & Wilson, 1981; McCabe & Collins, 1984), are more accepting of casual sex (Oliver & Hyde, 1993), and expect
greater levels of sexual involvement than do females (Mongeau & Johnson, 1995).
Alcohol was implicated as a strong risk factor in regard to sexual coercion (see Abbey, 1991a; Abbey et al., 1996a,
1996b). Several studies found at least some significant effect on the risk of sexual coercion based on reports of one or
both of the parties drinking (e.g., Ageton, 1988; Alzenman & Kelley, 1988; Amir, 1971; Boeringer et al., 1991;
Canterbury et al., 1993; Copenhaver & Grauerholz, 1991; Harrington & Leitenberg, 1994; Himelein, 1995; Koss, 1988;
Koss et al., 1988; Koss & Dinero, 1989; Muehlenhard & Linton, 1987; Norris & Cubbins, 1992; Small & Kerns, 1993;
Ward et al., 1991). However, in the only prospective study, alcohol was found to be a risk factor at Time 1, but not at
Time 2 or 3 (Gidycz et al., 1995). That is, re-victimization was not affected by alcohol use, but its use did affect the first
instance of sexual aggression in the study. This suggests that alcohol plays a complex and very episodic role in sexual
aggression. It is difficult to ascertain the extent to which intoxication is a strategically conscious action, or more a
common activity that happens to co-occur or contribute to the efficacy of other concurrent strategies.
In adolescence, reinforcement from a person's social network and peers has a significant influence on sexual coercion. A
person's friends and peer group can reinforce the appropriateness of coercive behavior by modelling it, and talking about
it as a normatively accepted practice (e.g., Ageton, 1988; Alder, 1985; Drout, Becker, Bukkosy, & Mansell, 1994; Hall &
Flannery, 1984). In addition, a person's reputation with a given peer group may be facilitated by the number of "notches
on the bedpost" scored by the person (Kanin, 1985). A person may also simply feel a conformity effect that leads to
engaging in unwanted sex (Small & Kerns, 1993). The effects of peer pressure can operate among college-age students
as well, such as with the fraternity or male athletic cultures of sexual pursuit (Boeringer et al., 1991; Kalof, 1993;
Melnick, 1992). However, some research indicates that relatively few adolescents feel pressured by their peers in regard
to sexual behavior (Sexuality Information and Education Council of the United States, 1994).
The role of context does not carry necessary implications for the "power versus sex" interpretations of sexual coercion.
People planning to coerce may strategically manipulate contextual events. However, what little research exists suggests
that courtship sexual coercion is not highly planned (Baier et al., 1991; Johnson & Sigler, 1996; cf. Amir, 1971). Instead,
some
 
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evidence indicates that date rapists plan on seduction, but not rape (Kanin, 1984). In characterizing the contextuality of
date rape, Kanin (1984) concluded that "A strong fortuitous element seems to be involved here. Put simply, a substantial
number of these rapes occurred because the `right man' (sexually aggressive and determined) did the `right thing'
(presented a level of force not usually encountered in dating) to the `right girl' (easily frightened or inebriated)" (p. 102).
Factors of Miscommunication
An interactional approach depends on the assumption that many factors work to put people's tactical accomplishments at
odds with one another in sexually coercive contexts. Such an approach assumes that sexual compliance gaining is
problematic in terms of the meanings attributed to tactics and the contextual motives of the interactants. If courtship is
often oriented toward opposing or incompatible objectives and if various factors conspire to problematize sexual
compliance interactions, then sexual coercion becomes a more probable outcome. The reasoning is that coercion is used
to compensate for the lack of efficacy of more noncoercive means, and it will be less certain that coercion has occurred,
less obvious what people's reactions should be, and less obvious whose fault it is. Several such factors were evidenced in
the literature on motives and scripts surrounding the sexual aspect of courtship.
Differences in Motive
Whether accounted for by socioevolutionary (e.g., Buss & Schmitt, 1993; Palmer, 1991; Thornhill, 1996) or sociocultural
(e.g., MacKinnon, 1989) forces, it is widely accepted that males and females generally pursue distinct mating strategies
for distinct reasons. According to socioevolutionary theory, females, given their need for long-term partner investment,
are attracted to signs of status, willingness and ability to invest (time, effort, money, etc.), ambition, dependability and
reliability, intelligence, size and strength, and commitment (Brigman & Knox, 1992; Buss, 1988, 1994). Women are
more likely to pursue sex with men who show signs of investing in long-term, enduring, monogamous relationships.
Men, given the potential genetic success of mating often and with many different partners, are instead attracted to signs
of fertility, such as youth, physical attractiveness, physical health, and fidelity (Buss, 1988, 1994). Cultural factors,
including divergent sex-role socialization, status disparities between males and females, and media messages reinforce
similar patterns of behavior (Clark & Lewis, 1977; Russell, 1984; Stock, 1991). Some authors even attempted
 
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to locate such gender-based differences in the actual biology of the sexes (e.g., Kemper, 1990).
The result of such divergent motives is a divergence in mating strategies. Males, more than females, engage in quantity
strategies, focusing "on short-term matings with little or no paternal investment" (Hirsch & Paul, 1996, p. 56). Females,
more than males, engage in quality strategies, seeking long-term paternal investment. A result of such strategy
differences is that males are more likely to specialize in and employ a wider variety of sexual compliance-gaining tactics,
including coercive tactics, and females specialize in and employ a wider variety of sexual compliance-resisting tactics
(Buss & Schmitt, 1993; Grauerholz & Serpe, 1985; Hirsch & Paul, 1996; LaPlante et al., 1980; McCormick, 1979;
O'Sullivan & Byers, 1992; Paul & Hirsch, 1996; Perper & Weis, 1987).
Perceptual Differences. Another manifestation of these differences in motive is that men experience a more sexualized
world than women. Men, compared to women, engage in more autoerotic activity, display preferences for more sexual
partners, use a more diverse set of sexual techniques, and have more elaborate sexual scripts (Laumann et al., 1994;
Oliver & Hyde, 1993). Men think about, are aroused by, and fantasize about sex more than women (Greendlinger &
Byrne, 1987; Knoth, Boyd, & Singer, 1988; Leitenberg & Henning, 1995; Loren & Weeks, 1986). Men expect sex earlier
in relationships (Knox & Wilson, 1981; McCabe & Collins, 1984; Mongeau & Johnson, 1995), initiate and consider
initiating sex more often (Byers & Heinlein, 1989), and are far more accepting and desirous of casual or anonymous sex
(Clark, 1990; Clark & Hatfield, 1989; Hendrick & Hendrick, 1995; Oliver & Hyde, 1993; Symons & Ellis, 1989).
Finally, men attribute more sexual intention and seductiveness to women's behavior than women intend (Abbey, 1991b;
Bostwick & DeLucia, 1992; Harnish, Abbey, & DeBono, 1990; Johnson, Stockdale, & Saal, 1991; Koeppel et al., 1993;
Kowalski, 1993; Saal et al., 1989; Shotland & Craig, 1988; cf. McCornack, Avery, & Bidol, 1995; Shea, 1993; Sigal,
Gibbs, Adams, & Derfler, 1988).
The evidence seems clear that males and females differ in sexual motives, tactics, and perceived roles in regard to each
other (Sigler & Curry, 1995). One approach to integrating many of these differences into an interactional framework is
script theory (Gagnon, 1990; Laumann & Gagnon, 1995). Scripts are cognitive structures that organize information on
plans, actions, and episodes. To the extent that socioevolutionary and sociocultural patterns of gendered behavior re-
occur over time, it is reasonable to expect that people will incorporate these patterns into their cognition as sets of
categorical and normative expectancies (cf. Kemper,
 
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1990). However, to the extent that these scripts specify incompatible roles, role conflict and communication problems
become more likely. There are several sources in the traditional courtship script of North American culture that increase
the likelihood of miscommunication and communication difficulties (see Metts & Spitzberg, 1996, for review).
Distortions of Overreliance on Scripts
If scripts are relatively stable cognitive structures relied on for guiding action alternatives in courtship and sexual
encounters, then they are likely to enhance cognitive efficiency, but may also increase the likelihood of
miscommunication and sexual conflict. If males and females tend to operate by somewhat incompatible scripts and if
they follow these scripts too rigidly, then the scripts may guide the interactants into divergent paths of behavior. There are
several reasons to expect that scripts facilitate miscommunication-based sexual coercion.
First, to the extent that scripts are stable and enduring over time, both for individuals and for society, it follows that when
a person deviates from the traditional script it may be difficult for the other person to understand and cope with such
deviations. Furthermore, the potential rigidity of such scripts make it difficult to adapt new behavioral routines to such
deviations. Abbey's (1987) work indicates that misperceptions of friendly behavior occur often. People may be unclear
how to navigate the waters of platonic cross sex friendships when flirtatious and immediacy behaviors are displayed
(Egland, Spitzberg, & Zormeier, 1996).
Second, a particular set of script elements that were found in large numbers of people is rape myth acceptance (RMA)
and the associated complex of attitudes, including adversarial sex-attitudes, sexual conservatism, sex role stereotyping,
and acceptance of interpersonal violence (Burt, 1980). Rape myths include beliefs such as "women who get raped while
hitchhiking get what they deserve," and "a woman who goes to the home or apartment of a man on their first date implies
that she is willing to have sex." Newman and Colon (1994) found four relatively self-explanatory factors of rape myths:
rape only happens to women who provoke it, disbeliefs of rape claims, victim responsible for rape, and rape reports as
manipulation. This complex of attitudes and beliefs carries obvious implications for the interpretation of courtship
scripts. Despite extensive research (Lonsway & Fitzgerald, 1994; Malamuth, 1981), several studies find no or only
relatively small effects of the RMA complex of attitudes on coercive experiences (e.g., Anderson & Cummings, 1993;
Briere & Malamuth, 1983; Burke, Stets, & Pirog-Good, 1988; Byers & Eno, 1991; Christopher, London, & Owens,
1990; Greendlinger & Byrne, 1987; Himelein, 1995; Koss, 1985; Koss, Leonard, Beezley, & Oros, 1985; Koss
 
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& Dinero, 1989; Malamuth, Linz, Heavey, Barnes, & Acker, 1995; Margolin et al., 1989; Muehlenhard & Linton, 1987;
Murphy, Coleman, & Hayes, 1986; Struckman-Johnson & Struckman-Johnson, 1992; Vogel & Himelein, 1995; cf.
Malamuth, Sockioskie, Koss, & Tanaka, 1991; Malamueth et al., 1993). The possibility of very subtle influences of these
beliefs, however, is suggested by several findings. Marx and Gross (1995) found adherence to such myths related (r = -
.22) to response latency in reacting to token resistance messages. Murphy et al. (1986) found small but statistically
significant correlations (r = -.15 to -.20) between rape-supportive beliefs and ability to discriminate friendly from
seductive female cues. Males high in such beliefs tend to overattribute sexual interest to female behavior (Kowalski,
1993). Although males tend to adhere to such beliefs more than females (Holcomb et al., 1991; Szymanski et al., 1993),
females significantly overattribute such beliefs to males (Edmonds & Cahoon, 1993), who, as with females, tend
overwhelmingly to reject such beliefs (Giacopassi & Dull, 1986; Gilmartin-Zena, 1987). Women victims of
nonconsenual intercourse, who possess more stereotyped rape scripts (i.e., violent stranger perpetrator), are less likely to
label their experience as rape (Kahn, Mathie, & Torgler, 1994). Such miscues, attributions, and misattributions may
substantially increase the risks of misinterpretation of interpersonal behavior.
Third, the double standard is still alive and well in much of society. The double standard is an attitude complex that
considers it acceptable for males to pursue sex qua sex, without implications for commitment, whereas females are
supposed to pursue sex qua relationship (Krueger, 1996; Muehlenhard, 1988; Muehlenhard & McCoy, 1991). Such a
double standard has numerous script implications, including that males, compared to females, are permitted to lose their
virginity earlier, engage in more infidelity, and pursue sex with forceful persistence and relative single-mindedness.
However, they also simultaneously make the appropriateness and legitimacy of resistance ambiguous.
Fourth, courtship and flirtation, in general, and sexual compliance gaining, in particular, rely heavily on nonverbal
communication (Abbey & Melby, 1986; Abbey et al., 1987; Egland et al., 1996; Fichten, Tagalakis, Judd, Wright, &
Ansel, 1992; Garcia & Derfel, 1983; Givens, 1978; Kirkendall, 1961; cf. Goodchilds et al., 1988; Kowalski, 1993;
McCormick & Jones, 1989; Muehlenhard, Danoff-Burg, & Powch, 1986). Nonverbal behavior is more iconic, but less
capable of metacommunicative clarification than verbal communication. To the extent that explicit verbal communication
may be viewed as diminishing the romance of the context, people may rely extensively on reading between the lines in
attributing sexual intentions. Furthermore, males appear to attribute considerable
 
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importance to the woman's clothing in determining sexual intentions (Abbey & Melby, 1986; Abbey et al., 1987;
Muehlenhard & Linton, 1987). Add to this that males tend to be less nonverbally sensitive than females (Hall, 1984) and
the possibilities for operating according to divergent scripts appear manifold.
Fifth, arousal, a surprisingly overlooked feature of sexual encounters, can lead to distortions of cognitive processing.
Several studies (Bajracharya, Sarvela, & Isberner, 1995; Kanin, 1957, 1969; Kanin & Parcell, 1977) indicate that foreplay
is a frequent precursor of sexual coercion. The suggestion that arousal is a strong influence was particularly noted in
Kanin's (1984) interviews of self-admitted date rapists. Not one of the interviewees claimed any planning of the rape,
although virtually all planned for seduction. In accounting for their rape, ''of paramount importance, over 90 percent
dwelled upon their perception of their companions' extreme sexual arousal, which, in turn, intensified their own sexual
arousal to the extent that they experienced a rather exaggerated selective perception of the females' receptivity" (p. 100).
Byers' (1988) role-play study found complex interconnections among RMA, intimacy, and sexual arousal. Surprisingly,
in several conditions, men viewing a sexually erotic video were more compliant with women's refusals, although high
RMA women viewing the arousing video provided less resolute verbal refusals. If alcohol is also consumed in the context
of sexual arousal, then the potential for arousal-based distortion of cues, and sexual coercion (Cue, George, & Norris,
1996), would seem to be magnified considerably.
Sixth, token resistance is a behavior people are likely to experience at some point in their courtship journeys. Token
resistance is the offering of a sexual resistance message (e.g., "No," "I don't want to"), when in fact the person intends or
is willing to have sex (see Metts & Spitzberg, 1996, for a review). Across many studies spanning time, region, and
culture, approximately 40% or more of people claim to have used token resistance (e.g., Johnson et al., 1991; Marx &
Gross, 1995; Mills & Granoff, 1992; Muehlenhard & Rodgers, 1993; Muehlenhard, Giusti, & Rodgers, 1993; Sprecher,
Hatfield, Cortese, Potapova, & Levitskaya, 1994). A small percentage of people even claim to be initially coerced and
then to enjoy the sexual activity (McConaghy & Zamir, 1995). Although the motives behind the use of token resistance
vary and it may be employed more in established relationships than in the early stages of courtship (Muehlenhard &
Hollabaugh, 1988; O'Sullivan & Allgeier, 1994; Shotland & Hunter, 1995), the existence of the "no that doesn't mean no"
permits the perpetuation of potential misunderstandings in the courtship context.
Seventh, Malamuth and Brown (1994) tested three models of men's perception of women's communication in sexual
compliance-gaining situ-
 
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ations. The first hypothesized that sexual aggression is due to male overattribution of seductiveness and/or lack of
discrimination of women's hostility from assertiveness. The assumption is that sexual aggression results when the male
fails to recognize when the woman is only being friendly and when she is extreme in her rejection. The second model
represents a general disregard for negative cues, suggesting that sexual aggression occurs when males inaccurately
decode rejection behaviors. The third model predicts that sexual aggression results when males are overly suspicious of
the veracity of women's sexual communication, generally, and their rejection cues, specifically. Although the effect sizes
were relatively small, the results generally supported the role of suspiciousness schemata in predicting sexual aggression.
The authors concluded that such a schema may facilitate sexual aggression not only by creating miscommunication of
intentions, but also by priming the male to pursue sex exploitatively or coercively even in the face of apparently
favorable cues (such as on a first date). The male may distrust the favorable cues, and thereby use coercion for fear that
the relationship may not last long enough to obtain sex through more cooperative means.
Collectively, there are manifold sources of misperception, misattribution, and miscommunication in the sexual
compliance-gaining context. Surprisingly, however, explicit communication does not appear to be commonly practiced in
these contexts. In a detailed analysis of sexual encounter narratives, Kirkendall (1961) found that many encounters occur
with little or no verbal communication about sex at all. People simply made the moves that seemed appropriate at the
time. There may be implicit rules in the courtship script that sex should not be explicitly and directly discussed in terms
of intentions and the process of pursuit (Metts & Spitzberg, 1996).
The argument here is that the interaction and context play significant roles in the production of sexual coercion. It is clear
that many instances of sexual coercion are attributed by the victims and perpetrators to "miscommunication," being "led
on," ambiguity of cues (Abbey, 1982, 1987; Baier et al., 1991; Bridges, 1991; Kanin, 1957, 1969, Muehlenhard, 1988;
Muehlenhard & McNaughton, 1988; O'Sullivan & Byers, 1992), or lack of clarity in nonconsent (Koss, 1985, 1988, Koss
et al., 1988). This position seems to diminish the culpability of the perpetrators of violence. However, from another
perspective, it offers one of the most productive views for intervention. A person on a date cannot open up the other
person's mind and peer inside for evidence of his or her childhood, previous sexual experiences, or sexual belief systems.
However, a person can immediately see, hear, and experience a threat, a roving hand, or a bodily restraint of movement.
Developing a more precise understanding of the
 
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sequelae of interactional moves in sexual compliance gaining offers a potentially invaluable source of risk prevention and
avoidance information.
A final concern of communication in sexual coercion is the role of interpersonal incompetence. Numerous studies
attempted to identify a role for deficient social skills in accounting for sexual coercion and rape. A common approach is
to study the social skills of incarcerated rapists and sometimes, to compare such groups to subjects imprisoned for
nonsexual crimes and to matched samples of nonincarcerated normals (e.g., Lipton, McDorel, & McFall, 1987;
Overholser & Beck, 1986; Prentky & Knight, 1991; Segal & Marshall, 1985; Stahl & Sacco, 1995; Stermac & Quinsey,
1986). Although the results vary somewhat, in general, rapists do not consistently differ from other prisoners in their
social skills, but are lower than nonincarcerated people in a variety of measured skills. Knight, Prentky, Schneider, and
Rosenberg (1983) found no significant multivariate effect for interpersonal competence in differentiating types of rapists,
although Prentky and Knight (1991) still suggested the possibility of a moderating role.
Results are similarly mixed in nonincarcerated groups. Murphy et al. (1986) found no significant correlation between
social perception indexes and likelihood of raping, although there were small effects in predicting arousal to rape stimuli.
In an extensive test using multiple methods of social skills assessment, Koralewski and Conger (1992) found virtually no
social skill differences among low, medium, and high sexual coercion groups. In one of the few studies that proposed the
possibility that the victim's interpersonal competence may influence victimization, Gidycz et al. (1995) found no effect of
interpersonal problem solving on subsequent victimization.
Perhaps the most intriguing potential resolution of the role of interpersonal competence was suggested by Muehlenhard
and Falcon (1990), who proposed that competence is curvilinear to coercion. Specifically, interpersonally incompetent
persons are more likely to use physical coercion, and interpersonally hypercompetent persons are more likely to employ
verbal and psychological coercion. Carter et al. (1988) discussed a category of rapist labeled "exploitative," which they
indicated may "appear highly socialized, or at least of high social competence" (p. 112). Partial support was found in
their study, in which high and moderate socially skilled persons reported obtaining more sexual intercourse, in general,
and by arguing, lying, and intoxication, compared to low-skilled persons. However, physical coercion was not
differentiated by social skill level. Spitzberg's (1995) study revealed only small, negative correlations between ratings of
male interpersonal competence and extent of sexual coerciveness. This hypothesis also received indirect support from
Kanin's
 
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(1984, 1985) interview and study of self-admitted date rapists, which indicated that they lead a very active sexual and
social life, even compared to controls, although Smithyman's (1979) study of self-admitted rapists found that they viewed
themselves as generally no more or no less popular than their immediate social group. Thus far, there does not appear to
be any research on the role of interpersonal competence in avoiding sexual coercion. It seems clear that more research is
needed in the role of communication and interpersonal competence in facilitating sexual coercion and its avoidance,
especially given that at the most basic level, more direct communication appears to be both effective and appropriate in
diminishing the risk of date rape (Muehlenhard, Andrews, & Beal, 1996).

Coercing Truth out of Coercion

Sexual coercion is a widespread problem in our society. Women are victimized more than men and experience greater
trauma as a result of this victimization. Regardless of whether coercion results from culture, biology, personal
dispositions, or the ephemeral nature of situated action, it is a problem that cries out for better scholarly understanding
and societal prevention. At the same time, any claims that courtship and intercourse themselves are forms of rape and
that gender relations are inherently status asymmetric in favor of men seem wildly overstated beyond the bounds of
responsible scholarly evidence. There are powerful forcesboth scholarly and politicalat work to position the claiming of
sexual coercion. Fortunately, extensive scholarly work has been conducted that provides useful glimpses into the nature
of sexual coercion and the factors that influence this complex form of human interaction.
One of the most enduring debates in the scholarly rendering and rending of rape is whether rape and sexual coercion are
motivated by power or by sex (Craig, Kalichman, & Follingstad, 1989; Emery & Lloyd, 1994; Felson, 1993; Felson &
Krohn, 1990; Gregor, 1990; Groth & Burgess, 1980; Groth, Burgess, & Holmstrom, 1977; Hall, 1987; Hamilton & Yee,
1990; Kellett, 1995; Lisak & Roth, 1988; Muehlenhard et al., 1996 "Sex or violence"; Palmer, 1988; Plummer, 1984;
Szymanski et al., 1993; Tang et al., 1993; Tedeschi & Felson, 1994). More recently, however, feminist and traditional
researchers alike argued that either the dichotomy is an oversimplification (e.g., Muehlenhard et al., 1992) or that date
rape (vs. stranger rape) is best viewed as the use of power to get sex, rather than the use of sex to get power (e.g.,
Bechhofer & Parrot, 1991; Kanin, 1984; Spitzberg, 1997b). The empirical data are beginning to reveal multiple paths to
sexual aggression, consisting of both sexual- and power-oriented (e.g. hostility)
 
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factors (e.g., Malamuth et al., 1995). A more differentiated model than dominance and power is needed to account for
sexual coercion in courtship contexts.
However else theorists may need to conceptualize the macrolevel societal and cultural factors framing the issue of sexual
coercion in courtship, coercion itself is ultimately enacted at the microlevel in specific contexts through a process of
interaction. One episode at a time, people are drawn into, eniticed, persuaded, cajoled, manipulated, deceived, and
sometimes forced to enage in unwanted and nonconsentual sexual acts. Such acts violate one of the most personal
psychological and physical boundaries any human possesses. Such acts also ironically mimic one of the potentially most
enjoyable activities available to humans. Until our society learns to differentiate coercion from consent, and rids itself of
the former, the latter will continue to be an intrinsically problematic concern in courtship encounters.

Acknowledgments
My sincere thanks go to Amber Cousins, William Cupach, Alana Nicastro, and John Theid, who offered useful feedback
on this chapter. Any mistakes or misjudgments remain, of course, my own.
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8
Obsessive Relational Intrusion and Stalking
William R. Cupach
Illinois State University
Brian H. Spitzberg
San Diego State University
Violent behavior toward self or others as the denouement of unrequited love is as old as antiquity.
Meloy, 1992, p. 19
He began calling me at home approximately 3 weeks after the break up of the relationship. We dated for 4 years;
he went out with someone else behind my back (for the third time), and I decided to end the relationship for good.
At first, his phone calls were occurring about once every couple of weeks, and although the calls were friendly in
nature, they were painful to me. He called because he said he ''cared about me" and was concerned because I was
taking the break up so hard. He continued to date others and continued to call me once or twice every couple of
weeks. Then he started to drive by my home. He came to the door probably four or five times. Now, 14 months
later, he has a steady girlfriend of 8 months, but he continues to call me and drive by my home. The calls range
anywhere from once a week to five or six times per week and several times each night. I usually see him driving
by my home once every couple of weeks. I have not been answering his calls for several weeks now. I have my
answering machine answer the calls; I also have caller ID on my phone and can tell when the phone calls are
from him. Often when the phone calls begin in the evening, I will turn out the lights and pretend I'm not homeand
he usually drives by. It's getting
 
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to be a very predictable pattern. Over the last 14 months, I repeatedly asked him to leave me alone. I have been
civil to himI have been mean to him. Nothing seems to deter him. So now, I just ignore the calls and don't speak
to him. I feel very threatened by his behavior. I am a little scared of him because his obsessive behavior doesn't
stop. Yet, I am also angry that I have to deal with this type of behavior on a daily basis. Unfortunately, this person
has become head of the company that I work for. He threatened to terminate my job only once, but he knows he
has the power to ruin this part of my life also. This is why I feel I have no recourse but to ignore his calls. Any
course of action against him would probably result in worse consequences for me than what is occurring now
(loss of job, bad publicity for my reputation, etc.). I have gone to the extent of changing positions within the
company so I can be in a different office building. I did this to minimize daily contact.
This story was told to us by a 38-year-old woman who continues to be harassed by a former dating partner. It is just one
of many diverse accounts we heard from individuals who are pestered, badgered, harassed, intimidated, and even stalked
by a person desiring relational contact, which is unwanted by the object of pursuit. We discovered, in our preliminary
research, that unwanted pursuit is both more pervasive and threatening than we imagined. Sensational cases of celebrities
being stalked appear in the media, and increasing attention to the problem of domestic violence recently raised public
consciousness about crimes of passion (see Lowney & Best, 1995). Popular books (Gross, 1994; Lardner, 1995;
Markman & LaBrecque, 1994; Olsen, 1991; Orion, 1997; Schaum & Parrish, 1995) now offer gruesome and horrifying
accounts of murderous obsessions. Yet, these severe and publicized cases of relational harassment represent only the tip
of a large iceberg. Unwanted relationship pursuit manifests itself in complex and subtle ways, owing to such
commonplace experiences as jealousy, unrequited love, and divorce.
In this chapter, we attempt to lay the groundwork for studying the phenomenon of obsessive relational intrusion (ORI).
We begin with a conceptualization of the phenomenon and its cousinstalking. We describe four general profiles of
individuals who exhibit ORI and describe the behavioral manifestations of unwanted pursuit. The consequences for, and
reactions of, individuals who are the object of unwanted pursuit are then considered. Finally, we conclude the chapter
with an agenda to guide a program of research designed to shed light on the sequelae of ORI and on the efficacy of
strategies for managing it.

Conceptualizing ORI and Stalking

We define (ORI) as repeated and unwanted pursuit and invasion of one's sense of physical or symbolic privacy by
another person, either stranger or
 
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acquaintance, who desires and/or presumes an intimate relationship. There are several key components of this
conceptualization. First, ORI grows out of nonmutuality of relationship definition (see Morton, Alexander, & Altman,
1976). The pursuer and the object of pursuit are at odds over the fundamental relationship dialectic of autonomy versus
connection (Baxter, 1990; Goldsmith, 1990). The pursuer presses his or her need for more connection, intimacy, and
interdependence with the object of pursuit, whereas the victim simultaneously desires autonomy and freedom from
imposition, at least with respect to the pursuer. This dialectical tension is endemic to the formation and ongoing
construction of all interpersonal relationships (see Baxter & Montgomery, 1996, for a review). Mismanagement of this
dialectic is central to the problem of unwanted pursuit, particularly when pursuit is obsessive.
Second, ORI is not commonly associated with a single event. Rather, obsessive intrusion is repeated over several
occasions. Isolated, individual acts of harassment or imposition are not by themselves obsessive. Obsessiveness is
reflected in the fact that the intruder is fixated on the target of attention; the intruder's thoughts and behaviors are
persistent, preoccupying, and often morbid. Pursuit is persistent despite the absence of reciprocity by the obsessional
object and despite resistance by the object. Consequently, episodes of intrusion tend to escalate in intensity over time as
the pursuer exerts greater and greater effort to capture the attention and affection of the object. It is such intrusive
relationships that concern us in this chapter, rather than the odd moment of revenge or starstruck passion. It is partly in
the relationship that the dynamics of unwanted intrusion are found, as much as in the recesses of individual
psychopathology. Thus, a complete understanding of ORI necessitates an examination of the various contingent actions
of pursuer and pursued over time.
Third, intrusion can also be psychological and symbolic as well as physical. Imposition on one's autonomy and invasion
of one's privacy are meaningful manifestations of intrusion and are even associated with forms of psychological abuse
(Follingstad & DeHart, 1997). Assaults on and threats to a person and property are overt forms of harassment. However,
unwanted intrusion on psychological or symbolic space can be accomplished without overt threat and can be just as
debilitating for the victim of intrusion. Importantly, however, intrusion necessarily implies a form of behavior on the part
of the intruder, and the behavioral topography of obsessive relational intrusion and stalking is extensive (see, Table 8.1,
later in this chapter; Coleman, 1997; Lindsey, 1993; Wright et al., 1996).
Stalking typically represents a severe form of ORI. Stalking is commonly defined as "the willful, malicious, and repeated
following and harassing of another person that threatens his or her safety" (Meloy & Gothard, 1995,
 
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p. 258). Although extreme episodes of ORI include stalking behaviors, there are forms of harassment and intrusion that
would not legally constitute stalking. (For a discussion of issues regarding the legal definition of stalking and the efficacy
of anti-stalking statutes, see Anderson, 1993; Bureau of Justice Assistance, 1996; Diacovo, 1995; Hueter, 1994; Jordan,
1995; Morin, 1993; Moses-Zirkes, 1992; National Institute of Justice, 1993; Perez, 1993; Strikis, 1993; and Welch,
1995). ORI entails a broader domain of intrusive activity than does stalking. As stated in a report by the National Institute
of Justice (1996):
Stalking is a distinctive form of criminal activity composed of a series of actions (rather than a single act) that
taken individually might constitute legal behavior. For example, sending flowers, writing love notes, and waiting
for someone outside her place of work are actions that, on their own, are not criminal. When these actions are
coupled with an intent to instill fear or injury, however, they may constitute a pattern of behavior that is illegal.
(p. 1)
Stalking is a pattern of behavior that stems from various underlying motives. When it is motivated by a desire on the part
of the pursuer to increase intimacy with the object, it is a manifestation of ORI. In some cases, however, the stalker
pursues a victim because the stalker perceives (accurately or not) that the victim has perpetrated some transgression
against the stalker. In such cases, the stalker's attachment to the victim is more persecutory or angry as opposed to
affectionate or amorous (Harmon, Rosner, & Owens, 1995). Such a motive suggests investigation of the broader issue of
revenge (Stuckless & Goranson, 1992). Some stalkers stalk exclusively intending to do harm to their object of pursuit
(e.g., assassins; Holmes, 1993). Sociopathic stalkers are not interested in cultivating a relationship with their victims;
they pursue individuals who happen to meet their assault criteria (Evans, 1994). We do not focus in this chapter on
harassment that is strictly sociopathic or persecutory in nature. Instead, we specifically concentrate on obsessive intrusion
that seeks relational connection. We recognize, however, that the distinction between affectionate and persecutory
motives can become blurred. Amorous intent can lead to rejection, which in turn, can result in feelings of persecution and
deep-seated anger.

Incidence and Manifestations of ORI

The essence of ORI is one person attempting to establish an interpersonal relationship with another person who does not
want this relationship. By definition, a relationship requires contact between individuals. When the
 
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pursuer encounters barriers to normal face-to-face interaction with an intended relational partner, then he or she
considers employing all of the other available means of communication. Pursuers use a number of mediums to connect
with their objects, including the telephone (Katz, 1994; Leets, de Becker, & Giles, 1995; Murray, 1967; Murray & Beran,
1968; Savitz, 1986; Sheffield, 1989; Smith & Morra, 1994; Warner, 1988), letters (Dietz, Matthews, Martell, et al., 1991;
Dietz, Matthews, Van Duyne, Martell, et al., 1991), and now, e-mail (Ross, 1995). Pursuers show up unexpectedly at the
home or workplace of their objects and often engage in clandestine surveillance.
As the most blatant form of ORI, stalking received the most research attention. Yet surprisingly, although 50 states
passed some form of anti-stalking legislation in less than 10 years, there is a paucity of trustworthy data on the extent of
victimization. Several expert opinions emerge with minimal foundation offered for the bases of these estimates. For
example, numerous authors repeat the estimate that "There are approximately 200,000 people in this country who are
currently stalking someone"1 (Cohen, 1993, p. 5). The source of this estimate appears to be stalking expert and forensic
psychiatrist Park Dietz, who also claims that 5% of women will be stalked at some time in their lives (Puente, 1992). The
exact nature of the evidence for such estimates, however, remains a mystery. Similarly, Landau (1996) boldly claimed
that "In 1992, 1,500 women were stalked and murdered by former husbands or boyfriends" (p. 14). This unattributed
statistic was obtained from a transcript of the Oprah Winfrey Show. Clearly, a need exists for reliable and scientifically
based estimates of stalking and obsessive relational intrusion.
The most important descriptive research thus far was sponsored recently by the National Institute of Justice (NIJ) and the
Centers for Disease Control (CDC). On behalf of the NIJ and CDC, the Center for Policy Research conducted a telephone
survey of a national probability sample of 8,000 women and 8,000 men regarding stalking experiences (Tjaden &
Thoennes, 1997). Results showed that stalking is far more ubiquitous than previously assumed. Among adult Americans,
8% of
1 A report published by the National Institute of Justice (1996) indicated that "Estimates of the number of stalkers
in the United States vary from 20,000 to 200,000" (p. 4). The report contends that "The 200,000 figure includes
the broadest spectrum of stalkers, including those who send threatening mail to public figures, such as Hollywood
celebrities and members of Congress. If incidents involving public figures are excluded from this count, the
estimate of stalkers' numbers declines significantly" (p. 15). Contrarily, we believe that the 200,000 figure may
seriously underestimate the problem because many forms of obsessive intrusion are not included in the somewhat
narrow legal parameters of stalking. The more recent national study conducted by the Center for Policy Research
(and cosponsored by the NIJ) suggests that stalking is much more pervasive (Tjaden & Thoennes, 1997).
 
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women and 2% of men have been stalked at some time in their lives. Annually, an estimated 1.7 million persons are the
victims of stalking in the United States. The vast majority of stalking victims are female (78%) and the vast majority of
stalking perpetrators are male (87%). In general, women tend to be stalked by former intimate partners, whereas men
tend to be stalked by male strangers or male acquaintances. Some unknown number of children are also the objects of
stalking (McCann, 1995).
Additional data on the pervasiveness of stalking are provided by studies of college samples. For example, Gallagher,
Harmon, and Lingenfelter (1994) surveyed 1,100 member institutions of the National Association of Student Personnel
Administrators in the United States and Canada. Data from the Chief Student Affairs Officers (CSAOs) representing 504
4-year institutions indicated that 34.5% of CSAOs "had to intervene in one or more stalking cases during the past year"
(p. 42). In 15% of these cases, a warning to the pursuer was sufficient. However, stronger sanctions were required in
many cases. "Eighteen percent . . . were denied access to residence halls, 31% were brought before judicial boards for
sanctions short of suspension or dismissal, and 15% were suspended or dismissed from school after other interventions
failed" (p. 42). ''CSAOs reported that during the 1991-92 academic year, 57 students were injured by their pursuers, one
female pursuer `torched' a church after leaving a fatal attraction note, and five students were killed by obsessive
pursuers" (p. 43). In a study of college students specifically, McCreedy and Dennis (1996) received responses from 760
undergraduates at an eastern university, indicating that just over 6% of the students claimed to have been stalked at some
time. However, two studies of college samples on opposite sides of the continent, when asking students directly whether
they had ever been stalked, found that 27% answered "yes" (Fremouw, Westrup, & Pennypacker, 1997; Nicastro,
Cousins, & Spitzberg, 1997).
An investigation by Hall (1996) revealed the obsessive nature of stalking behaviors. In her study of more than 100 adult
victims, she discovered that 17% were stalked between 1 and 6 months, 23% for 6 months to 1 year, 29% for 1 to 3
years, and 13% for more than 5 years. The national survey conducted by the Center for Policy Research found that the
average duration of stalking was 1.8 years, which was longer for victims of intimate or formerly intimate partners (2.2
years) than for victims of stranger stalking (1.1 years).
According to Kurt (1995), "there is no doubt that some stalking behavior represents a form of domestic violence and can
be construed, at the very least, as a type of interpersonal coercion" (p. 221; see also Coleman, 1997). According to a
recent report by the National Institute of Justice (1996), "Some advocates of battered women believe that up to 80% of
stalking cases occur in a domestic context. Currently, there is little hard data,
 
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however, on how many stalkers and victims are former intimates, how many murdered were stalked beforehand, or how
many stalking incidents overlap with domestic violence" (p. 3). Nevertheless, the most dramatic picture of stalking
behavior is suggested by the statistics regarding domestic violence. In the United States alone, there are more than
400,000 protective orders issued annually. Most often they are requested by victims of domestic violence (Biden, 1993).
The importance, and impotence of these restraining orders is suggested by the FBI estimate that "30% of all women
murdered in 1990 were killed by their husbands or boyfriends in domestic violence incidents" (Cohen, 1993, p. 10; also
cited in Flowers, 1994). Moreover, 90% of women murdered by their partners were stalked before the attack, according
to one estimate (Beck et al., 1992).2 Studies done in Detroit and Kansas City reportedly indicate that "some 90% of all
those who are murdered by their intimate partners called the police at least once and more than half have called five
times or more" (Cohen, 1993, p. 8).3 According to Bradburn (1992), "Approximately 50% of all females who leave their
husbands for reasons of physical abuse are followed, harassed, or further attacked by their former spouses" (p. 271).
Harrell and Smith (1996), in a study of 355 women who obtained temporary restraining orders against their spouse or
lover, found that 21% reported "tracking or stalking'' within the first 3 months of the order. This rate remained stable over
a period of 1 year.
Reliable evidence regarding the propensity for violence in stalking cases is generally scant. Samples in reported research
were extremely small and unrepresentative, making it risky to draw any firm conclusions. Moreover, the underlying
motives for stalking considerably vary. Preliminary data is offered by Meloy (1996b), who systematically reviewed
clinical studies of obsessional followers reported over the past 10 years. Inspection of the largest studies (Harmon et al.,
1995; Meloy & Gothard, 1995; Zona, Sharma, & Lane, 1993; total N = 142) reporting statistics regarding incidence of
threats and incidence of actual subsequent violence revealed the following: About one half of obsessional followers
threatened a person, property, or both, and 75% of those who threatened were not subsequently violent. These findings
comport with those of the Center for Policy Research that found, in a national probability sample, that less than
2 We unsuccessfully attempted to locate the original study or studies on which this "90% of women murdered by
their partners were stalked" estimate was based. Given the tendency in the stalking literature for the careless
repetition of estimates regardless of their methodology, this estimate should be read with caution.
3 We unsuccessfully attempted to locate the original study or studies on which this "90% of all those who are
murdered by their intimate partners called the police" estimate was based. Consequently, this estimate should be read
 with caution.
 
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one half of all stalking victims are overtly threatened by their assailant (Tjaden & Thoennes, 1997). Meloy (1996b) noted
that threats are probably underreported, which tends to inflate the 75%. Naturally, it is possible for a pursuer who has not
made a threat to become unexpectedly violent, but this seems to be rare in the reported literature. It is also possible that
some murder victims were obsessively pursued prior to the attack, but the stalking was never reported. Furthermore,
although violence as part of or a result of stalking is not yet well-demonstrated, there is clear evidence of an association.
The Center for Policy Research study found that for women stalked by husbands or cohabiting partners, 81% were also
physically assaulted and 31% were sexually assaulted by this partner. These rates are significantly higher than those for
women who do not report stalking victimization (Tjaden & Thoennes, 1997).
Other small scale studies on forms of harassment and intrusion that do not necessarily qualify as stalking clarify the
nature and scope of unwanted pursuit. Some research indicates that many obscene telephone calls are targeted toward a
particular recipient (Savitz, 1986). Studies reach widely varied estimates of the percentage of people who received such
calls, ranging from 8% to 90% (DiVasto et al., 1984; Herold, Mantle, & Zemitis, 1979; Katz, 1994; Murray, 1967;
Murray & Beran, 1968; Savitz, 1986; Sheffield, 1989; Smith & Morra, 1994). As many as 30% of people experienced
someone exposing himself or herself to them (DiVasto et al., 1984; Herold et al., 1979), some instances of which could
be directed to the target or based on some degree of pursuit. One study found that 10% of college students reported
having received "unwanted personal attention" in the forms of "unwanted letters, calls, visits, pressure for meetings,
dates, etc., where personal or romantic interest in you was implied, but no sexual expectations were stated" (Leonard et
al., 1993, p. 176). In the same vein, Herold et al. (1979) found that 24% of college students reported being followed for
the purpose of harassment. Providing a little more detail, a study by Roscoe, Strouse, and Goodwin (1994) found that
many adolescents experience unwanted telephone calls (20.7%), unwanted letters or notes (19.1%), unwanted pressure
for dates (18.9%), and unwanted sexual advances (16.6%).
Even in intact relationships, individuals engage in intrusive behaviors. Larkin and Popaleni (1994) found, for example, in
their focus groups and interviews, that:
Young men intimidate their girlfriends by using surveillance tactics to closely monitor their girlfriends' behavior,
activities, and access to other friends. Young women disclosed experiences of being spied on through windows,
having their diaries, address books and mail read without permission, being telephoned countless times to verify
their whereabouts and being visited unexpectedly at different events or in different places. (p. 221)
 
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Similarly, Guerrero, Andersen, Jorgensen, Spitzberg, & Eloy (1995) discovered that surveillance tactics represented one
common type of response to feeling jealousy in a relationship.
The surveillance and relational harassment that occur in existing relationships (Guerrero et al., 1995; Patterson & Kim,
1991) seem to foreshadow what can occur when the relationship breaks up. In a dating survey of 48 undergraduate
women, Jason, Reichler, Easton, Neal, and Wilson (1984) found that 56% reported being "harassed by a male for at least
a month after indicating a desire not to date" (p. 265). In a separate network and convenience sample, Jason et al.
conducted structured interviews with 50 women who were harassed for at least 1 month subsequent to terminating a
dating relationship with a male partner. Results indicated that "On the average the harassment occurred for 13 months
(range 1-120 months), and harassment episodes occurred on an average of 6.5 per week (range 0.1-49)" (Jason et al.,
1984, p. 263). The harassing behaviors reported by the women included phone calls (92%), visits at home or work (48%),
verbal or physical threats or assaults (30%), being followed or watched (26%), and being sent flowers, letters, or notes
(6%).
Spitzberg and colleagues investigated the incidence of a broad range of ORI behaviors among undergraduate men and
women sampled from three universitiesone in Illinois, Texas, and California (Cupach & Spitzberg, 1997a; Spitzberg &
Cupach, 1996; Spitzberg, Marshall, & Cupach, 1997). A list of 63 behaviors was developed based on prior literature and
consultation with professionals (i.e., a psychologist, a security consultant, and a city attorney specializing in stalking).
Table 8.1 shows the average percentage of respondents reporting that they were the recipients of each harassing behavior
at least once. This list of behaviors is not exhaustive, although it depicts the wide diversity of actions that can be
perceived as intrusive. Not surprisingly, behaviors that are relatively less intrusive and less threatening are reported more
frequently.

The Dynamic Nature of ORI

We clarify three important points about the occurrence of ORI in general. First, it should be apparent that ORI is
composed of behaviors that can be arrayed on a continuum of severity (see Fig. 8.1). Some behaviors are mildly
intrusive, some moderately so, and some intensely invasive (Cupach & Spitzberg, 1997a). Mildly intrusive behaviors
amount to pestering and importunity; they are annoying, but not particularly threatening. Receiving unwanted gifts or
favors, being pestered for a date, being begged for forgiveness, or getting numerous nonthreatening calls or messages are
 
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TABLE 8.1
Average Percentage of Respondents Reporting Being the Target of ORI Behaviors
Across Three Samples
(Total N = 876) %
Called and argued with you 73
Asked if you were seeing someone 72
Would call and hang up without answering 70
Constantly asked for another chance 64
Watched or stared at you from a distance 62
Made exaggerated claims about his or her affection for you 61
Refused to take hints that he or she was not welcome 61
Gossiped or bragged about your relationship to others 61
Checked up on you through mutual acquaintances 58
Drove by your house or work 57
Constantly apologized for past wrongs or transgressions 57
Told you to stop doing certain things 56
Argued with you about your relationships with other people 55
Used third parties to spy or keep tabs on you 55
Engaged in excessive self-disclosure 54
Accused you of being unfaithful 53
Performed large favors for you without your permission 52
Told others you were more intimate than you currently were 51
Tried to argue with you in public places 50
Called at all times of the day to check up on you 50
Spread false rumors about you to your friends 49
Visited you at work 48
Used profanity and/or obscenities in reference to you 47
Showed up before or after work 47
Spied on you 46
Left notes on your car windshield 45
Complained to you how you ruined his or her life 45
Accused you of sleeping around 44
Made up things about your past relationship 43
Sent you unwanted cards or letters 42
Joined you uninvited while you were conversing with others 42
Called you while you were working 41
Waited around near your conversation with another person 40
Left you written messages in or at your residence 38
Increased contact with your family members to stay involved 37
Waited outside your place 36
Described acts of sex to you 36
Inappropriately touched you in an intimate way 35
Waited in a car near where you were 35
Left frequent messages on your answering machine 34
Sent you unwanted gifts 34
Went through your private things in your room 34
Made vague warnings that bad things will happen to you 34
Showed up before or after classes 34
Claimed to still be in a relationship with you 34
Physically shoved, slapped, or hit you 32

 
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TABLE 8.1 (continued)
Threatened you with physical harm 30
Followed you in a walking conversation 30
Made obscene phone calls to you 30
Warned that bad things would or might happen to you 29
Followed you from place to place 27
Damaged property or possessions of yours 26
Exposed himself or herself to you 26
Knocked on your window unexpectedly 25
Mailed or left gifts you previously gave 16
Sent threatening notes/letters/messages to you 16
Forced sexual behavior 16
Called radio station and devoted songs to you 15
Took photos of you without your knowledge or consent 11
Cluttered your e-mail with messages 11
Recorded conversations without your knowledge 8
Broke into your home or apartment 8
Sent you offensive photographs 5

inconveniencing and intrusive to a degree, but they tend not to be threatening or highly upsetting (Cupach & Spitzberg,
1997a). Using a 100-point scale, Lees-Haley, Price, and Williams (1994) reported that the following experiences appear
to be only moderately emotionally distressing: repeatedly receiving love letters from a coworker after asking him or her
to stop (M = 26), repeatedly being asked for a date by a supervisor after initially saying no (M = 28), repeatedly
receiving obscene notes from a coworker after asking him or her to stop (M =30), and repeatedly being asked out by
one's teacher after initially saying "no" (M = 34). Highly distressing experiences (M > 80) included death of a child or
spouse and rape.
Behaviors that invade privacy but pose little threat, such as being spied on or having false rumors spread about you to
your friends, are relatively more aggravating. They are more than merely annoying; they are moderately severe. Most
upsetting of all are behaviors that are perceived to be threatening such as being the victim of stalking, home invasion,
verbal threats, physical assault, or property damage. Thus, behaviors are interpreted by objects of pursuit as being more
or less intrusive, more or less invasive of privacy, and more or less threatening.
Second, the continuum of intrusiveness implies that the boundary between reasonable and obsessive is fuzzy. Some
behaviors that are seen as modestly intrusive in one context are construed as appropriate intimacy in another context
(e.g., leaving notes on a car window, sending gifts, making frequent calls, etc.). A degree of persistence in relational
pursuit is sometimes expected and rewarded. It is unclear at what point persist-
 
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 Fig. 8.1.
Continuum of ORI severity.
ence in pursuit becomes excessive. There is a gray area between perseverance and obsession. It is precisely this aspect of
pursuitwhen intrusion becomes both unwanted and obsessivethat renders interaction between pursuer and object
problematic.
Third, intrusive behavior occurs in a relational (or perhaps sometimes quasirelational) context. Intrusion has a serial
quality, consisting of sequential and cumulative actions and reactions. A specific instance of intrusion (e.g., discovering a
note on your car windshield) represents one event at one point in time. ORI entails multiple events between pursuer and
target overtime. Thus, ORI is not only characterized by specific types of behavior, but also temporal patterns of behavior.
For example, the intensity and threatening nature of intrusiveness tend to escalate over time. A report issued by the
National Institute of Justice (1996) indicated that "over time a stalker's behavior typically becomes more and more
threatening, serious and violent. The stalking activity generally escalates from what initially may be bothersome and
annoying but legal behavior to the level of obsessive, dangerous, violent, and potentially fatal acts" (p. 5). Furthermore,
the behaviors of both pursuers and targets are likely to be contingent. The target's response to an intrusive event
influences the pursuer's subsequent actions, which in turn affect the victim's subsequent actions, and so on. At present,
our knowledge about ORI is primarily at the level of particular actions and events that are construed as intrusive. A more
complete understanding of the dynamics of ORI requires investigations of the temporal and interactive facets of pursuer
and target behaviors.

Profiles of Pursuers
Types of Pursuers
Pigeonholing types of obsessional pursuers is tricky business. Perhaps contrary to common belief, pursuers are a
heterogeneous lot (see Meloy, 1996a; Meloy & Gothard, 1995). As Meloy (1996b) remarked, "What obsessional
followers do is less varied [and less complicated] than who they
 
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are" (p. 161). Different types of pursuers have been variously labeled stalkers, obsessional followers, love addicts, and
erotomanics. There are different types of obsessional intruders and they show different profiles. Researchers
distinguished among different groups of intruders based on criteria such as: the presence of certain psychiatric disorders,
the motive of the pursuer, the type of victim (e.g., public figures versus ordinary citizens), and the nature of the
relationship between the pursuer and the victim (e.g., stranger, coworker, or former spouse; Geberth, 1992; Holmes,
1993; Kurt, 1995; McAnaney, Curliss, & Abeyta-Price, 1993; Wallace, 1995; Wright et al., 1996; Wright, Burgess,
Burgess, McCrary, & Douglas, 1995; Zona et al., 1993). Using some of these distinctions, we offer our own tentative
typology of obsessive relational pursuers consisting of four broad categorieserotomanics, borderline erotomanics,
obsessional acquaintances, and obsessional estranged lovers.
Erotomanics. The mental condition of "psychose passionelle" described by French psychiatrist de Clérambault (1942) is
known by a number of labels, including de Clérambault's syndrome (Leong, 1994; Leong & Silva, 1991), old maid's
insanity, delusional loving (Seeman, 1978), and pathologies of love (Mullen & Pathé, 1994b). The most common name is
erotomania, which refers to the clinical diagnosis of delusional disorder, erotomanic being the subtype (American
Psychiatric Association, 1994). Erotomanics hold the delusional belief that they are loved by another individual. The
erotomanic exhibits a morbid infatuation with the object, and commonly, the affection is more idealized and spiritual,
rather than sexual. In fact, erotomanics typically have little or no contact with the object of affection, except through
media exposure (in the case of celebrities) or fleeting, nominal interaction, such as an exchanged glance. Often the object
of affection is someone of a higher social or financial status.
Erotomania is a chronic condition, resistant to legal and psychiatric remedies. In Zona et al.'s (1993) study of seven
individuals diagnosed as erotomanic, the average duration of obsession was 125 months. The erotomanic's delusion is
persistent and perpetuated by rationalization. The rejecting behaviors of the ostensible lover are interpreted as evidence of
the lover's reciprocation.
Erotomania is infrequently diagnosed in its pure form. It usually co-occurs with the diagnosis of other conditions, such as
paranoid schizophrenia or organic mental disorders (e.g., El Gaddal, 1989; Mullen & Pathe, 1994a, 1994b). In addition,
many cases reported as erotomania do not provide sufficient information for a definitive diagnosis (Gillett, Eminson, &
Hassanyeh, 1990).
Early clinical reports suggest that erotomanic patients are more often women than men, and their victims are men.
However, there is no
 
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definitive evidence that this is generally the case. Male erotomanics are now commonly reported in the clinical literature
as are cases in which the erotomanic and the object of affection are the same sex (Dunlop, 1988; Goldstein, 1987;
Harmon et al., 1995; Meloy, 1992; Taylor, Mahendra, & Gunn, 1983; Signer, 1989; Zona et al., 1993).
Explanations for the occurrence of erotomania range from psychological to organic. Among the more prominent factors
are low self-esteem (Mullen & Pathé, 1994a, 1994b; Segal, 1989) and pathological mourning (Evans, Jeckel, & Slott,
1982; Raskin & Sullivan, 1974). Organic factors that were implicated include dementia, right temporal lobe epileptic
focus, and use of alcohol, cortisone, or birth control pills (Carrier, 1990; Doust & Christie, 1978; Drevets & Rubin, 1987;
El Gaddal, 1989; Signer & Cummings, 1987).
Although they stalk their objects and occasionally become violent toward them, "the risk and extent of actual physical
harm posed by erotomanic subjects may be less than by other categories of stalker" (Menzies, Fedoroff, Green, &
Isaacson, 1995, p. 535). Meloy (1992) concluded that "The best estimate is that less than 5% of individuals with the
erotomanic subtype of Delusional (Paranoid) Disorder will be violent" (p. 38).
Menzies et al. (1995) conducted a study to discern predictors of dangerousness among a group of male erotomanics.
They examined the files of 13 psychiatric patients diagnosed with erotomania and an additional 16 cases reported in the
psychiatric literature. The cases were classified into dangerous and benign groups based on the presence or absence of at
least one of five types of serious antisocial behavior related to the erotomanic delusions (e.g., physical harm or threats of
physical harm). Dangerousness was significantly predicted by two factors: The patient had multiple delusional objects
and the patient exhibited a history of serious antisocial behavior unrelated to the delusion. Classification into benign and
dangerous groups based on these two factors showed 88.9% accuracy (hit rate).
Borderline Erotomanics. Meloy (1989) proposed a distinction between pure erotomanics, as just described, and
borderline erotomanics, who do not possess the delusion that the object of their desire loves them. Borderline erotomania
"indicates a gross disturbance of attachment or bonding, but not necessarily a loss of reality testing" (p. 480). Although
Meloy seemed to employ the term borderline erotomanic to cover a broad spectrum of obsessional followers, we prefer
to circumscribe its application to pursuers whose victims are virtual strangers. Zona et al. (1993) referred to this group as
"love obsessionals."
 
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Borderline erotomanics are similar to their pure erotomanic counterparts; however, instead of showing a primary
diagnosis of delusion (erotomanic subtype), they exhibit other primary psychiatric diagnoses, such as personality
disorders, schizophrenia, or organic mental disorder. Similar to erotomanics, borderline erotomanics know their objects
only through the media or casual contact. Thus, a prototypical victim in Zona et al.'s (1993) study of love obsessionals
"was one possessing the entertainment/movie industry image of a sexy actress, or `bombshell'" (p. 901). Perhaps the
most publicized case of borderline erotomania is that of John Hinckley, Jr., whose obsessive infatuation with the actress
Jodie Foster lead him to shoot (then president) Ronald Reagan.
Borderline erotomanics are just as obsessed with their objects as are pure erotomanics, even though they do not perceive
the affection to be requited. The average duration of obsession reported by Zona et al. (1993) was 146 months.
Obsessional Acquaintances. Although relational intrusion can be perpetrated by strangers, it often grows out of an
existing (or previous) social or professional relationship between the pursuer and the pursued. Romans, Hays, and White
(1996), for example, explored the incidence of stalking and other forms of harassment experienced by university
counseling center staff members. Based on a random sample of counseling centers, the authors found that 64% of
respondents were harassed in some way by a current or former client, 5.6% of staff members reported being stalked by a
client, 8% had a family member who was stalked, and 10% reported that a supervisee was stalked.
Other researchers reported obsessional following by clients of lawyers, physicians, psychiatrists, social workers, and
professors. Harmon et al. (1995) reported a fascinating example:
A 41-year-old woman was referred for evaluation seven times between 1985 and 1994 subsequent to four arrests
on the same charge. The defendant had worked at a hospital and [had] been harassing a doctor who also worked
there for approximately ten years, believing that they had an affair. By the time of her most recent referral, this
college educated women was working as a go-go dancer, and harassing the doctor, his wife and the Assistant
District Attorney handling the case. At least 20 individuals connected with the case have taken out orders of
protection against her (including four judges who have removed themselves from her case because of harassment
or inappropriate behavior on her part). (pp. 194-195)
Objects of pursuit can also be friends, acquaintances, or coworkers of the pursuer. In a sample of 59 university students
reporting on specific occurrences of ORI, 34% reported being harassed by an acquaintance, 19%
 
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by a friend, and 9% by a co-worker; most of the rest were former dating partners (Cupach & Spitzberg, 1997b).
According to Hall's (1996) study of stalking victims, 30% of the stalkers were prior acquaintances, but not sexual
intimates.
Obsessional Estranged Lovers. Perhaps the largest category of pursuers consists of former relational partners who cannot
let go of a terminated (or redefined) romantic relationship. In Hall's (1996) study, for example, 53% of stalkers were prior
sexual intimates of the victims Although biased by the fact that the cases were in the domestic violence unit of the city
attorney's office in San Diego, a study of 50 stalking case files revealed that 96% of victims had prior relationships with
their pursuer, most of which were a dating partner (60%), spouse (22%), or separated or divorced partner (6%; Cousins,
1997; Nicastro, 1997). The most commonly mentioned motive for pursuit in these cases was attributed as
"reconciliation." In Tjaden and Thoennes' (1997) study, women tended to be stalked by former husbands and intimate
partners. In these cases the lover or spouse is estranged; that is, love is unrequited or the once-intact relationship has gone
sour. The pursuer's behavior is intended to restore or maintain the now unreciprocated relationship. When attempts to
pursue a terminated romantic relationship become obsessive, they are said to represent love addiction (e.g., Nelson, Hill-
Barlow, & Benedict, 1994; Peele, 1981; Timmreck, 1990). Whereas erotomanics are considered psychotic, obsessed
estranged lovers are more often psychopathic (Geberth, 1992). It is important to note, however, that in the Center for
Policy Research study, about one fifth of stalking incidents occurred before the relationship ended, whereas over 40%
occurred after the relationship ended, and the remainder occurred both before and after the relationship ended (Tjaden &
Thoennes, 1997). It is not known, in this study, to what extent some of the stalking in intact relationships occurred in the
context of relationships transitioning to separation or dissolution.
The emotional distress attendant on relational termination is associated with a host of powerful feelings, including
diminished self-esteem, hurt, humiliation, anger, and depression (e.g., Baumeister, Wotman, & Stillwell, 1993;
Timmreck, 1990). Intrusion begins with protestations of love and attempts to interact with the former partner. After
repeated rejection and the realization that the former relationship cannot be restored or reconciled, the jilted lover may
seek retribution and threaten or harm the former partner. This is evidenced, in part, in the statistics on domestic violence
presented earlier.
Of all the types of pursuers, obsessed estranged lovers (as a group) may be the most dangerous. Some evidence suggests
that the propensity for
 
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violence is greatest in cases where the pursuer and victim were previously involved romantically. Meloy and Gothard
(1995) found that obsessional followers were significantly more likely to threaten a prior spouse or intimate partner than
to threaten a stranger.
Characteristics of Pursuers
A ''consistent finding ... suggests that chronic failures in social or sexual relationships through young adulthood may be a
necessary predisposing experience for some obsessional followers. In fact, failed relationships appear to be the rule
among these individuals" (Meloy, 1996b, p. 151). Research on erotomanics painted a picture of lonely and socially
isolated individuals, often unmarried (Raskin & Sullivan, 1974; Segal, 1989; Zona et al., 1993). Although the evidence is
limited thus far, this pattern apparently extends to pursuers without a diagnosis of erotomania. In their investigation of
obsessional followers, Meloy and Gothard (1995) found that, whether or not the pursuers were erotomanic, they tended to
"have a history of impaired or conflicted relationships. Many ... whose victims were strangers never had a significant
intimate relationship and consistently failed in their courtship attempts. This appeared to heighten their social isolation"
(p. 261).
According to McReynolds (1996), "A 1993 district attorney's office survey of roughly 80 men convicted of stalking
found that most were not only narcissistic, but egocentric. Half had previous criminal histories, many involving drugs
and alcohol" (p. 41). Substantial percentages of stalking victims in Hall's (1996) study claimed to know that their pursuer
had a violent family background (27%), had a history of violence or physical abuse (46%), and stalked another person or
persons (30%). A large majority (72%) reported being threatened.
One interpretation contends that obsessional pursuit reflects "a pathology of attachment for some individuals" (Meloy,
1996b, p. 159; see Dutton, 1995). Dutton and colleagues demonstrated that an insecure attachment style is associated
with jealousy and with domestic assault (Dutton, Saunders, Starzomski, & Bartholomew, 1994; Dutton, van Ginkel, &
Landolt, 1996). They speculated that insecurely attached and jealous individuals are hypersensitive to abandonment. In a
study of 30 wives separated from their husbands, Dutton et al. (1996) found that husbands' self-reported jealousy and
fearful attachment style (a type of insecure attachment) significantly predicted wives' reports of their husbands'
intrusiveness. Frequency of intrusiveness was measured by items such as "My partner followed me from place to place,"
"My partner engaged in threatening behavior directed at me," and "My partner has forced his way into my home against
my will."
 
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Data obtained by Levitt, Silver, and Franco (1996) also suggests the potential relevance of attachment styles. These
researchers surveyed individuals who were involved in "troubled" relationships, including some relationships where the
partner engaged in harassment, threats, and intrusive following. Although effects were small, they found that insecure
attachment styles were significantly associated with involvement in troubled relationships. Because respondents reported
the troublesome behaviors of their partners, the attachment style of victims may be implicated as much as that of
pursuers.
Other studies of love and attachment suggest a link to pursuit. Williams and Schill (1994) describe people with a self-
defeating personality as high in a mania love style, which is possessive, dependent, and jealous. "Once in a relationship,
they appear to strive constantly to attract a partner's attention and are intensely jealous" (p. 33). Sperling and Berman
(1991) also described people with a style of "desperate love" as people who have:
experiences such as a feeling of fusion with the lover, a sense of urgency about the relationship, an overwhelming
desire for and anxiety concerning reciprocation, idealization of the lover, feelings of insecurity outside the
relationship, difficulty with interpersonal reality testing in the relationship, anxiety at separations, and extremes of
happiness and sadness. (pp. 47-48)
Not surprisingly, they found that such people could be characterized by more dependent attachment styles.
In Meloy's (1996b) account of obsessional following, the factors of relational incompetence and narcissism are also
prominent:
The psychopathology of obsessional following appears to be, in part, a maladaptive response to social
incompetence, social isolation, and loneliness. What differentiates these individuals from others, however, appears
to be their aggression and pathological narcissism. The acting out of their obsession in pursuit, and in a few cases
eventual violence, is likely due to a disturbance in their narcissistic economy. A real event, such as acute or
chronic rejection, challenges the compensatory narcissistic fantasy that the obsessional follower is special,
idealized, admired, superior to, in some way linked, or destined to be with the object of pursuit. Disturbance of
this narcissistic fantasy, imbued with both a sense of grandiosity and a feeling of pride, triggers feelings of shame
or humiliation that are defended against with rage. Such intense anger also fends off any feeling of sadness
because the capacity to grieve the loss of a whole, real, and meaningful person is not available to the obsessional
follower. (pp. 159-160)
Despite psychological disturbances, pursuers often exhibit cunning in their pursuit and are highly motivated by their
obsession. Meloy and Gothard (1995) found that obsessional followers were more intelligent and educated than a
comparison group of criminal offenders exhibiting
 
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mental disorders. They suggested that pursuers are especially resourceful and manipulative:
obsessional followers would go to great lengths to find the residences and phone numbers of their victims. One
posed as a police officer to get an address from the department of motor vehicles. Another used alligator clips
and installation information to trace and decode the unlisted telephone number of the victim each time she had it
changed. (p. 261)
Although pursuers sometimes intend to inflict terror on their victims, such as when revenge is a motivating factor, they
often fail to realize the extent of distress they are causing. There are several contributing factors. First, because they are
obsessed with the object of pursuit, obsessional pursuers tend to be egocentric, focusing more on their own feelings than
on the feelings of the pursued.
Second, the pursuer rationalizes the appropriateness of his or her behavior. In their research on unrequited love, for
example, Baumeister et al. (1993) suggested that the actions of a would-be (rejected) lover may be seen by that person as
justified in the name of love. "The would-be lovers's blameworthiness for relentlessly pursuing the rejector despite his or
her objections becomes mitigated by the would-be lover's honorable intentions" (chap. 10, this volume, p. 317).
Third, pursuers are guided by a cultural script that promotes persistence. Bratslavsky et al. (chap 10, this volume) argued:
Movies, books, and songs often portray the would-be lover's persistence as paying off when the rejector comes to
his or her senses and recognizes the would-be lover for the wonderful person he or she is. The presence of this
script for the would-be lovers makes it easy to understand why an unrequited lover persists in the face of
rejection. (p. 318)
In Jason et al.'s (1984) study, men, whose female dating partners had broke up with them, did not perceive persistence in
contacting the women beyond a month as harassment. Nine of their 23 male participants "indicated there needed to be
either physical abuse or threats (verbal abuse) for it to be harassment" (p. 266). Indeed, Stith, Jester, and Bird (1992)
found that a major cluster of college students who used violence in their dating relationships were described as "hostile
pursuers." These people expended great "energy pursuing their partner and attempting to maintain their relationships
during frequent periods of conflict, while also expressing high levels of emotional abuse towards their partner" (p. 417).
Some degree of persistence apparently is viewed by rejected suitors as socially competent.
 
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Characteristics of Victims
Effects of ORI on Victims
We typically refer to the object of pursuit as a "victim" because intrusion is unwanted and persistent, and it adversely
imposes on the object. Regardless of the severity of the intrusion, the object is a victim of at least mild harassment and
invasion of symbolic privacy. In the most severe cases, of course, the object is the victim of physical violence. Most of
the time, when pursuers commit violence in connection with their obsessional pursuit, it is perpetrated against the object
of affection (about 80% of the time, by Meloy's, 1996b, reckoning). Less often, however, third parties blocking access to
the pursuit object, innocent bystanders, and pursuers themselves can experience violence as well (Mullen & Pathé,
1994b).
Although firm data are not available on the incidence of violence linked to ORI, the consequences of physical assault are
patently obvious. What is less obvious (and even less documented) are the psychological effects on victims of ORI.
Mullen and Pathé, (1994b) indicate that "It is difficult to overstate the fear produced in most victims of stalkers simply by
the repeated and intrusive contacts. Victims curtail their lives, giving up social and sometimes work activities. They
change address, town and sometimes even country in the hope of evading the stalker's attentions" (p. 475).
In Hall's (1996) study, 83% of stalking victims reported that their personality had changed as a result of the stalking.
This change consisted of considering themselves as less outgoing, more frightened, more paranoid, and/or more
aggressive. In the Center for Policy Research study, 30% of women and 20% of men who were victims of stalking
considered seeking counseling as a result. Victims of stalking were also more concerned for their safety than nonvictims
(Tjaden & Thoennes, 1997). Indeed, Wallace and Silverman (1996) argued for viewing stalking victimization as a source
of posttraumatic stress disorder, although they noted that "there have been no scientific studies of the long-term effects
that stalking has on victims" (p. 204).
Even when pursuers do not technically stalk their objects, the psychological cost can be great. To assume that milder
forms of relational intrusion are not serious because they occur in dating and casual relationships or because they do not
involve overt physical threat would be a mistake. Victims of less severe forms of intrusion report various reactions,
including annoyance, upset, stress, anxiety, depression, fear, shock, violation, selfblame, and a loss of trust in people
(Cousins, 1997; Cupach & Spitzberg,
 
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1997a; DiVasto et al., 1984; Herold et al., 1979; Nicastro, 1997; Nicastro et al., 1997; Savitz, 1986; Smith & Morra,
1994).
Victim Responses to ORI
Very little is known currently about how victims of ORI cope. Clearly, those who are pursued respond in a variety of
ways that are likely to be adaptive or maladaptive, depending on the nature of the intruder and the unique circumstances
of the prior relationship between the intruder and the victim.
In one study (Jason et al., 1984), 50 females who reported being harassed for over 1 month by a former dating partner
after terminating the relationship responded in a number of ways. These included doing nothing (32%), talking to a
friend, family member, or therapist (54%), making an environmental change, such as moving (19%), and becoming mean
and distant with respect to the harasser (8%). Similarly, the literature on sexual harassment suggests that responses
directed at a harasser can be arrayed on a continuum of assertiveness, ranging from avoidance to direct and forceful
confrontation (e.g., Clair, McGoun, & Spirek, 1993; Gruber, 1989; Maypole, 1986).
Studies on coping with phenomena that are conceptually related to ORI can offer some insight into the various ways in
which victims deal with intrusion. Burgoon et al. (1989; see also Hosman & Siltanen, 1995), for example, investigated
privacy invasions and the tactics individuals employed to restore privacy. Respondents reported a broad repertoire of
responses, including interaction control (e.g., stop talking or be silent, decrease involvement in the conversation, or
pretend to be preoccupied to avoid interaction), dyadic intimacy strategies (e.g., hit or push the other person, or threaten
the person with violence), expressions of negative arousal (e.g., yell at the person, stare at the person, or become irritated
and angry and show it), blocking and avoidance (e.g., avoid eye contact or erect physical barriers), distancing (e.g., put
back to the door, increase distance between self and other, or do not show any reaction), and confrontation (e.g., tell
person you do not like his or her behavior, leave the situation, or tell the person to go away).
According to Burgoon et al. (1989), "It is noteworthy that no restoration behavior shows a particularly high propensity of
use, implying a fundamental timidity on the part of victims to restore privacy" (p. 155). They argued that "In a culture as
obsessed with good interpersonal relations as it is individual rights, it is likely that people in actual privacy-invading
situations rely far more on passive and subtle strategies than on direct (and potentially more efficacious) ones" (p. 155).
This conclusion is corroborated by
 
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Werner and Haggard (1992) who found that individuals dealing with unwanted intrusions at the office indicated a
preference for indirect forms of avoidance and rejection.
The tendency for victims of intrusion to respond relatively passively comports with the research on unrequited love.
Individuals who are obsessionally pursued are cast into the role of rejector, to the extent that the pursuer desires a greater
level of intimacy or contact than the victim permits. Based on their analysis of accounts regarding unrequited love,
Baumeister and colleagues (Baumeister et al., 1993; Bratslavsky et al., chap. 10, this volume) suggested that rejectors'
messages of disinterest were often inconsistent and ambiguous. They contended that unlike pursuers, rejectors lack a
clear script to guide behavior.
Even the few media treatments of unrequited love that focus on the rejector's viewpoints (such as the movies
Fatal Attraction or Play Misty for Me) fail to feature effective means of handling the problem but rather dwell on
the mystified futility of the protagonist in attempting to discourage unwanted romantic attentions from an
increasingly intrusive, maniacal pursuer. These are hardly helpful guides. (Baumeister et al., 1993, p. 379)
Furthermore, evidence from several studies of social rejection indicate that rejectors try to soften messages of
interpersonal resistance in an effort to save the rejected person's face and minimize the hurt inflicted (e.g., Folkes, 1982;
Metts, Cupach, & Imahori, 1992; Snow, Robinson, & McCall, 1991). In their study of unrequited love, Bratslavsky et al.
(chap. 10, this volume) indicated that "rejectors' accounts indicated that their unwillingness to hurt another person led
them to behave in a considerate and warm manner, and this in turn was probably taken as a sign of encouragement by the
would-be lovers" (p. 321). Similarly, de Becker (1997) contended that the politeness or indirectness of relational rejection
is interpreted as a sign of affection.
In an effort to capture a broader range of victim responses to ORI, we developed a list of 50 potential coping behaviors
(Spitzberg & Cupach, 1996; Spitzberg et al., 1997). Two surveys of college students (N = 300, N = 366, respectively)
were conducted to assess the frequency with which targets exhibited each of the behaviors in response to an incident of
relational intrusion. Factor analysis resulted in five distinct groupings of the response items. These were labeled direct
interaction (e.g., yell at the person, have a serious talk with the person, or telling the person he or she was wrong),
protection (e.g., obtaining a restraining order, calling the police, or changing jobs), avoidance (e.g., ignoring the person,
avoiding common activities, or avoiding eye contact), retaliation (e.g., hitting the pursuer, trying to shame the person, or
ridiculing the person), and technology
 
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(obtaining caller ID, obtaining telephone call-back feature, or pursuing telephone annoyance laws). These categories
were replicated in openended descriptions of victim responses as well (Cupach & Spitzberg, 1997b). In response to
stalkings, Fremouw et al. (1997) found that the most common coping strategies for both males and females was to either
confront the stalker (i.e., direct interaction) or to ignore or hang up phone calls from the stalker (i.e., avoidance). Over
50% of the victims of stalking in the Center for Policy Research study claimed to have taken protective measures,
including 17% who said they got a gun (Tjaden & Thoennes, 1997).
If we know little about how victims behaviorally respond to episodes of relational intrusion, we know even less about the
relative efficacy of behavioral responses that victims enact in an effort to stifle intrusive behavior. In a study of women
who were harassed after terminating a heterosexual relationship, Jason et al. (1984) found that assertive responses by
women were no more effective than nonassertive, passive responses in stemming the harassment. Research on sexual
harassment also suggests that relatively assertive and confrontive responses are perceived to be effective by some victims
and counterproductive by other victims (e.g., Livingston, 1982). Clearly, we need to investigate how various factors
modify the efficacy of coping responses. Such factors include the nature of the relationship between the victim and the
pursuer prior to the onset of harassment and psychosocial characteristics of the pursuer and the target of pursuit.
One of the most formal and serious coping responses is legal action. Despite extensive legal reforms in antistalking
legislation, the efficacy of current laws is suspect in a variety of regards (Sohn, 1994). The most likely legal response
begins with the request for protective orders. The first such request is for a temporary restraining order (TRO), which
later can be made permanent (in actuality, usually only for a period of months to three years) based on a hearing in front
of a judge at which time the intruder can defend his or her actions.
Research recently began to examine the effectiveness of such protective orders, almost exclusively in domestic violence
cases (e.g., Fisher & Rose, 1995; Gondolf, McWilliams, Hart, & Stuehling, 1994; Horton, Simonidis & Simonidis, 1987;
Kaci, 1994). Unfortunately, the data thus far are not encouraging. Evidence from clinical studies of erotomanics (e.g.,
Harmon et al., 1995; Mullen & Pathé, 1994b), as well as the data regarding domestic violence previously presented,
suggests that such orders are routinely ignored. Perhaps the first empirical warning was a study of 262 domestic violence
incidents by Berk, Berk, Loseke, and Rauma (1983), who found that for the few couples with restraining orders, the
existence of the order
 
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did not appear to have any effect on preventing future abuse (p. 207). They cautioned that their data are limited in
various ways, but their finding of no deterrent effect has since been supported in several subsequent studies of domestic
violence cases. Chaudhuri and Daly (1992), in a study of 30 TRO cases, found 11 men violated the order, 7 through
forcible entry, 2 by deceit, and 1 was let in by a child. The paradoxical nature of such violations is illustrated by one man
who "came to a woman's house four times, trying to convince her to take him back; he came with a dozen roses and
chocolates in hand each time. At first she wanted to believe that he had changed, but he became violent during each
visit" (p. 239). Perhaps the most disconcerting finding of this study was "that one in ten women in [the] study was beaten
or threatened by men because the woman obtained a TRO" (p. 245).
The most extensive studies of restraining orders report similarly discouraging data (e.g., Harrell, Smith, & Newmark,
1993; Tjaden & Thoennes, 1997). Klein's (1996) study of 663 restraining order cases over a period of 2 years found that
"Almost half of the abusers (48.8%) re-abused their victims within 2 years" of the restraining order (p. 199), although it
is important to point out that this sample had an unusually high proportion of abusers with prior criminal histories (80%).
Harrell and Smith (1996) conducted interviews with 35 women who filed petitions for TROs for abuse and 142 men
named in consecutive complaints. They found that "Unwanted contacts in the first 3 months after the first order were
reported by over half of all the women who obtained temporary orders. These contacts involved unwanted telephone calls
(reported by 52%); tracking or stalking (21%); and visits to the home (21%)" (p. 222). Overall, 77% of the women and
71% of the men reported contacts after the restraining order, 57% of the women reported psychological abuse, and
almost one third (29%) of the women reported at least one act of abuse (i.e., kicking, strangling, beating, forcing sex, or
threatening with a weapon) within 3 months of the order. Tjaden and Thoennes (1997) found that 28% of women and
10% of men victimized by stalking obtained a protective order, but that 69% of the women and 81% of the men claimed
their stalker violated the order.
Still, formal legal intervention sometimes is effective in stopping the stalking (Williams, Lane, & Zona, 1996). The
question remains: "Under what circumstances?" In the case of temporary restraining orders, for instance, mutually served
papers are more effective than nonmutually served papers (Meloy, Cowett, Parker, Hofland, & Friedland, 1996). De
Becker (1997) argued that "court orders that are introduced early carry less risk than those introduced after the stalker has
made a significant emotional investment or introduced threats and other sinister behavior"
 
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(p. 205). Thus, restraining orders typically deter stalking by a rejected dating partner, but may be less effective in cases
where the victim repeatedly was abused by the stalker and threats were escalated. In each case, there needs to be a
careful assessment of whether a court order is likely to deter further intrusion. As de Becker (1997) said, "If a victim or
professional in the system gets a restraining order to stop someone from committing murder, they have probably applied
the wrong strategy" (p. 190).

Mapping Uncharted Territory

Obsessional relational intrusion is fairly common and it produces a number of undesirable consequences. Yet, we know
very little about the dynamics of ORI. Preliminary research began to provide tentative and preliminary answers to such
fundamental questions as: "What is the incidence of a broad range of relationally intrusive behaviors?" The answers open
the door to additional questions that require serious scholarly attention, such as: "When do intrusive behaviors become
threatening, rather than merely annoying?" "Under what circumstances, and why?" "What turning points characterize
serial episodes of ORI?" ''What symptoms (physical and psychological) are associated with ORI victimization?" "What
are the precipitants of violent versus nonviolent pursuit?" "What are the profiles and correlates of ORI perpetration (e.g.,
jealousy, possessiveness, or insecure attachment)?" "What is the incidence of ORI among domestic violence
perpetrators?" And perhaps most importantly "what is the relative effectiveness of victim responses designed to avoid
ORI and/or to minimize its negative consequences?" "What types of responses are adaptive, what types are maladaptive,
and under what circumstances?"
Investigating ORI represents our desire to shed some light on the dark side of interpersonal relationships. OR! reflects
interactions in which relational goals are severely mismatched. It is one of the many ways in which interpersonal
interactions derail and ultimately create distress for people. Understanding how and why such derailment occurs, and
what is required to successfully manage such derailment, is integral to a complete understanding of social and relational
competence, which inherently entails the successful management of problematic interpersonal encounters.
As in all phenomena of the dark side, stalking and obsessive relational intrusion reveal and produce paradoxes in human
relationships. Often, persons only desiring love unknowingly terrorize the object of their affections. Others methodically
attempt to create a sense of fear and helplessness in the very person they once loved. The victims of such attentions
 
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often face the bind of action and inaction. Assertive or aggressive attempts to deter a pursuer may in fact trigger
counterattacks of revenge or even be interpreted by a delusional pursuer as evidence of love, masked in the guise of the
object's public face. However, inaction can reinforce the pursuer through its ambiguity.
An additional irony was noted by one of our associates, herself a victim of stalking by a former acquaintance. After
obtaining a permanent protective order against her pursuer, she experienced a heightened sense of apprehension because
she no longer could keep tabs on him because he was no longer keeping tabs on herat least not overtly. In essence, it
seemed just as scary not having any idea of his activities as it was when he was showing up in her life all the time; at
least she had a sense of his whereabouts and the routine points and types of contact.
The paradoxes of obsessive relational pursuit and intrusion provide a rich nexus of dialectical forces at work in
relationships. The pursuer desires intimacy, the target desires autonomy. The pursuer invades privacy, whereas the target
attempts to secure privacy. The target often is debilitated by indecision regarding courses of action, whereas the pursuer is
focused and clearly directed toward a specific goal. The pursuer thrives on the element of surprise and novelty of contact,
whereas the target generally longs for a more ordered and predictable life. Just possibly, although not yet evidenced in
the research, some relationships involve targets of pursuit who long for the friend they feel they lost, and the pursuers
long for the romance their friendship never permitted. Such are some of the ironies implicit in stalking and obsessive
relational intrusion.

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V
LOSING
 
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9
Losing, Leaving, and Letting Go: Coping with Nonmarital Breakups
Ann L. Weber
University of North Carolina at Asheville
Undo it, take it back, make every day the previous one until I am returned to the day before the one that made you
gone.
Rapoport, 1994, p. 24

Why Study Nonmarital Breakups?

"If you ever become a psychologist, I hope you write a book, and explain why someone would just break your heart." I
vividly remember this plea from a high school classmate, almost three decades ago. I never forgot it, mainly because I
heard itand variations of the same needmany more times from my friends and colleagues. Sometimes it came from
friends wryly laughing about their latest failures, other times it was more poignant and sincere: "Please find out, and help
meor help someone!" The subject of love, especially of love gone wrong, always ran through the conversations of friends.
It never really seemed like a scholarly topicif it had been, there surely would have been a plethora of books or theories
about love and loss, wouldn't there? So we sought advice from each other, and I even
 
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promised "someday" I would see what I could learn about heartbreakwhat caused it, how it might be predicted, even
prevented.

A Social-Psychological Perspective
Rejection, false starts, failed lovesthese make for great conversations and ennobling diary entries. They testify to people's
warring impulses to live in hope"Maybe this will be the brass ring," "Maybe this time we'll make it"and, after such hope
has died, they testify to the urge to commemorate the pain, or the ennobled feeling for at least having tried. Have you, the
reader, "been there"? Have you wondered if someone else, someone once close to you, has been there because of you?
The sad little story of failed love is so commonplace it barely seems noteworthy; operas, movies, and even melodramatic
television miniseries normally seek something with true drama and real sensation. Yet, breakups happen every day; they
are hardly the stuff of great art or literature, not without a tragic element, like Flaubert's stunning, maniacal, and self-
dooming Madame Bovary or Wagner's plaintive, searing leitmotif as Isolde cries about loss and bliss over the mortally
wounded Tristan. Heartfelt we may be, but artful we are not when we whine, "He broke it off, without any warning!'' or
"She just threw me over for that guy. I should've seen it coming, I guess, but I just can't believe it."
Conclusions
Writing about writing, Lamott (1994) advised, "If you don't believe in what you are saying, there is no point in your
saying it. You might as well call it a day and go bowling" (p. 106). So why did I agree to assemble some of my thoughts
and ideas into this chapter for The Dark Side? What do I think I have to saywhat do I believe inthat warrants this effort
instead of bowling, reading a murder mystery, or playing with my cats? As it happens, once I read Lamott's advice, I
realized I could readily crystallize my feelings on the subject of nonmarital breakups and why they deserve special study.
Here are my pointsmy conclusions, in fact. Starting with these, the remaining pages attempt to lead up to them:
1. Nonmarital breakups are different from marital breakups and other losses in ways that have important
consequences for how they are experienced, how they must be studied, and how they might be survived.
 
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2. Nonmarital breakups are also similar to other types of relationship losses in ways that help us to understand the
nature of the issues involved, and the patterns of grief experienced.
3. Nonmarital breakups are meaningful to both persons, creating crises in intimacy, personal and social
development, and expectations about future commitment.
4. Surviving a nonmarital breakup provides the opportunity for self-discovery, generosity, the dignity and nobility
of grief, and the promise of recovery.
I have been collecting breakup stories, formally and informally, for almost 20 years. My interest in nonmarital breakups
led to the exploration of grief in general, especially grief at interpersonal loss. Two discoveries repeatedly arose while
venturing into this unfamiliar territory: First, people really want to know about breakups and how to cope with
relationship loss, despite a wealth of information and common sense out there; second, solid information is hard to come
by! Eventually, I resigned myself to accepting that, given my own limits and my day job, I will not be the one to collect
the truly useful database on nonmarital breakups. Yet, I had local success in collecting and getting some respect for
individuals' particular stories of their experiences. I branched out, from respondents' stories, with the support of my
longtime colleagues John Harvey and Terri Orbuch, to examine stories of loss and recovery in other sourcesincluding
published fiction and nonfiction, poetry, news accounts, and personal communications.
Meaning and Value
In this chapter, the experience of nonmarital breakups is portrayed as a familiar yet distinct type of relationship loss, one
that has meaning in itself and deserves the respectful interest of relationships scholars. Along the way, I summarize some
key studies, weave in relevant theories, toss in some favorite quotes, and indulge in a few inappropriate self-disclosures.
Breakups are sad, confusing, and enraging; they are also ironic, tragicomic, and poignant. The study of nonmarital
breakups reveals much of what is funny and heart-rending about human feeling and action. A friendly warning to the
reader: I am not writing dispassionately, but from the heart, with irony and flippancy, as well as sincerity, on behalf of
myself and my respondentsthose who loved, lost, let go, and moved on. Do not take my informality for irreverenceI am
humbled to be in the presence of the other chapters and authors in this volume. I make my best contribution here by
writing in my real voice and setting out for you some of the ideas and imagesfrom literature, movies, and real peoplethat
inspired me to focus on the experience of relationship loss.
 
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Defining Nonmarital Breakups

Everything reminds me of you. I try to read, but four times on a single page some word begins the lightning chain of
associations that summons my mind away from my work, and I must struggle to return my attention to the task at
hand. [M]y imagination constructs long and involved and plausible reasons to believe that you love me. . . . You said
you loved me . . .
Tennov, 1979, p. viii
The end of somethingeven something barely knownrepresents the beginning of something unknown, a realization that
threatens and even traumatizes our human longing for predictability, for knowing our place. In previous work, Harvey,
Orbuch, and I posited that the loss of a close relationship, like any major stressor or trauma, initiates a long (even
lifelong) process of coping (Harvey, 1996; Harvey, Orbuch, & Weber, 1990; Harvey, Weber, & Orbuch, 1990). After the
outcry ("No, you can't mean it!," "This is so weird, so unreal," or "You want to what?'') comes denial ("She'll be back" or
"We agreed we need some time apart"), but reality intrudes in the form of lucid moments ("I thought he would call by
now") and the painful sympathy of well-intentioned friends ("I'm sure you'll feel lonely, so call if you want company").
Ultimately, through a process of confronting the reality of the loss, through confiding and hearing oneself think, despite
vacillating between muzzy-headed lethargy and anguished misery, one emerges a different person. We contend that the
major outcome of this process of coping with loss is a new identityaltered self-realizations, new skills, refined goals, and
certainly, a new social context.
This model of response to loss is based on a stress-response sequence originally developed by Horowitz (1986), in which
coping is triggered by a trauma or stressor and culminates in a new approach to similar stressorsafter all, one now has
experience in this particular class of life challenges. Similar problems may erupt in the future, but never again "for the
first time." Although it is helpful to see relationship dissolution as a type of trauma or stressor and to understand it in that
context, it is also important to respect the qualities and issues that make breakups unique among traumas, different from
other losses. This is the focus of this chapter.
I concentrated much of my interest and research on the distinctions of nonmarital breakups, the dissolution of
relationships that were not (or not yet) publicly committed or contracted in the manner of most marital
 
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relationships and many formalized cohabitations and partnerships. Nonmarital does not refer here to relationships that
simply do not involve legal, heterosexual marriage. Long-time cohabitating couples, whether gay or straight, have a
commitment either implicit in their time together or explicit in the way they arrange their social and financial affairs.
Noncommitted or nonmarital relationships, however, are more than interactions, affairs, or attractions, but less than
commitments in terms of the stability and security they promise for the future. A commitment is a pledge to future action;
whatever else nonmarital relationships have, they do not yet have such a pledge. One or both partners may privately feel
or wish for a future, or for the prospect of a future ("Maybe this one could work out"). Yet, as long as the pledge or wish
remains unspoken or not seriously developed, the relationship is not committed. It is the endings of such
relationshipsliaisons that range from budding romances to almost committedthat are explored in this chapter.

What's Your Story? Accounts of Relationship Loss

Vera said: "Why do you feel you have to turn everything into a story?" So I told her why: Because if I tell the story, I
control the version. Because if I tell the story, I can make you laugh, and I would rather have you laugh at me than
feel sorry for me. Because if I tell the story, it doesn't hurt so much. Because if I tell the story, I can get on with it.
Ephron, (Heartburn, 1983, pp. 176-177)
What do we know about nonmarital breakups? Even less than we know about intact nonmarital relationshipswhich is not
much, for the simple reason that such alliances defy archival study. People do not register dating relationships or steady
relationships in the way that they become a matter of public record once they announce an engagement, register a
domestic partnership in the few municipalities that recognize gay or lesbian commitments, or obtain marriage licenses.
Nonmarital relationships are invisible in the sense that they leave no trace for the unobtrusive researcher to detect. We
can only know a nonmarital relationship is a relationship according to the testimony of the partners. This subjects
research on nonmarital breakups to all the vicissitudes of the self-report technique reviewed elsewhere (e.g., see Ickes,
1994). Indeed, one of the first things you are told (warned) in many scholarly articles on nonmarital breakups is that
"relatively little has been accomplished in the scientific portrayal of the ending of [nonmarital] romance" (Loren, 1984, p.
49).
 
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Breakin' Up is Hard to Study
Breakups researchers seldom have the luxury of accessing both sides of the story. As noted by Sprecher (1994), because
most studies of marital and nonmarital breakup only examined one ex-partner's perspective, our understanding of
whether people perceive and adjust to such losses is incomplete. Sprecher herself succeeded in collecting data from both
partners of 47 heterosexual dating couples after they experienced a breakup and was able to confirm some agreement
between former partners about issues such as control over and responsibility for the breakups and even some specific
reasons for the breakup. Some gender differences were also found (e.g., women enumerate more possible reasons for a
breakup than do men), but Sprecher found fewer gender differences than in earlier studies (e.g., Hill, Rubin, & Peplau,
1976). Sprecher's study of the two sides of breakup was part of an ongoing longitudinal study of dating relationships, but
many researchers find longitudinal research dauntingly complex, expensive, and difficult to finish (see Ickes, 1994).
Thus, most relationship scholars rationalize or content themselves with one-sided accounts of relationship loss.
Narratives or versions of only one partner who agrees to respond to an interview or survey questions gain procedural
convenience at the expense of balance and even fairness. Such one-sided samples are highly self-selected and may have
multiple motives for participation: presenting themselves in a good light (and their ex in a bad light); disclosing to
someoneanyone, even a stranger; wheedling therapy or advice; or the very self-analysis and disclosure that is predicted
by the Harvey et al. model of response to relationship loss.
Thus, nonmarital breakups are hard to study because nonmarital relationships are difficult to identify and confirm.
Indeed, one partner's "breakup" is the other partner's dead end: The latter may reasonably claim that, in his or her mind,
there was no "breakup" because there was no relationship to breakups! Some relationships never develop, at least not
adequately in (at least) one member's mind; these nonstarters die before they are born. The other person may feel left and
bereft not because explicit promises were broken or shared dreams were destroyed, but because unrequited wishes and
hopes were never reciprocated (Baumeister & Wotman, 1992).
Are Nonmarital Relationships Real?
In early 1981, John Hinckley, Jr., attempted to assassinate president Ronald Reagan, shooting and wounding both Reagan
and his press secretary,
 
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James Brady. Investigations soon showed that Hinckley was a rabid fan of the young film actress Jodie Foster and his
motive was to impress the celebrity he loved from afar. Foster took the stand at Hinckley's trial, and responded to the
attorney's request that she describe her relationship with the defendant by insisting that she had no relationship with John
Hinckley. Hinckley was observed weeping at this irrefutable denial of his lovethe only emotional reaction he had been
seen to display through the long legal proceedings that culminated in his commitment to a psychiatric hospital. Hinckley
had no relationship with Foster, he merely had a fantasy about her (see discussion of erotomania in Cupach and
Spitzberg, chap. 8, this volume). Yet, his dream had nothing to do with either the real John Hinckley or the real Jodie
Fosteror reality itself, for that matter. Unrequited love, like real love before it, has been publicly committed and
announced, and is so subjective that it defies proof (however, see Bratslavsky, Baumeister, & Sommer, chap. 10, this
volume). Thus, a major challenge to studying nonmarital breakups is confirming whether there ever was a nonmarital
relationshipa two-sided onein the first place! Perhaps we must concede that it is impossible to study relating in a totally
objective way. Ultimately, we must takeand only havethe participant's word for it.
The Value of Accounts
If we are not sure a real relationship ever existed between two given people, if they have different ideas about what they
have and expect, if they never go on record in any measurable way, and if the termination of their relationship is a matter
of debate between them, what exactly do we have? What we have are stories, or accountspeople's oral or written
narratives explaining their experiences and actions, describing characters and events, and inferring meaning and motives
in the course of retelling and reviewing their stories (Harvey, Weber, & Orbuch, 1990). In the sense of "data," accounts
are at best, extremely qualititative; creative research can conduct headcounts of gender, age range, or content analyses of
themes and images as a way of quantifying some of what respondents offer. However, such techniques miss the point of
studying accounts. A compelling argument for this claim is that accounts are not artifactual, created only by the
respondent's desire to meet the researcher's request for a story. Rather, accounts of relationship loss seem almost
embarrassingly accessible, just below the surface of many people's overt behavior.
Ask a friend, acquaintance, or friendly stranger, "Have you ever lost a relationship? Do you have a story you could tell
me about it?" and you might be startled at the ease, even the urgency, with which many people
 
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rattle off their narratives. Some have a rehearsed quality, and probably for a good, obvious reason: They have told these
stories before, but have not necessarily finished their own internal editing and analysis. Some stories are wrought and
presented in soap-opera format, clearly intended to entertain, as well as instruct, an audience. Screenwriter and director
Nora Ephron offers an excellent example of this in Heartburn (1983), the thinly-disguised autobiographical account of
the end of her marriage to journalist Carl Bernstein. The novel is entertaining, as well as poignant; it is about a woman
who copes with painful betrayal and loss by focusing on the absurdity of her situation and relating her story as a series of
funny observations: "`The most unfair thing . . . ,' I said, `is that I can't even date.' . . . I was seven months pregnant" (p.
3).
Still other accounts are offered in the form of an epic narrative, personal yet fraught with moral conclusions and advice.
As bereaved survivors struggle to make sense of their losses, they occasionally find themselves almost detached,
watching their own anguish as if from a dispassionate place, observing how clichéd or melodramatic their own actions
seem to be. Literary allusions are almost irresistible, as people who have never written a word feel an urgent need to
compose poetry or songs, and normally soft-spoken writers now feel compelled to speak out. After novelist David
Morrell's teenage son Matthew died from complications of treatment for a rare form of cancer, Morrell wrote Fireflies
(1988) to describe the hallucinatory hysteria and life crisis he experienced in his grief:
The worst thing that's ever happened to me? The most dreadful thing? I can tell you that with absolute certainty.
Indeed, with terrible compulsion, I find myself driven to describe that ordeal. My effort isn't voluntary. It comes
in torturous rushes. Distraught, I remind myself of Coleridge's Ancient Mariner, in a frenzy stopping friends and
strangers to tell of my woe, as if by describing it often enough, I can numb myself and blunt the wordsand in so
doing heal myself of the cause behind the words. (p. 4)
A less literary version of the epic account is one that concludes with a moral lesson, advice the account-maker offers to
anyone who might listen. One young woman, a 21-year-old college senior responding to an openended questionnaire on
breakups that I advertised on my campus, related a tormented tale of teenage love gone horribly bad. Discovering she
was pregnant at 15 years old, she gave in to her boyfriend's insistence that she have an abortion, later describing it as a
painful and frightening experience. Months later, she found her boyfriend in bed with "another woman," a girl of 14
years old, and that was itexcept that "it" took another two years to break off because she herself felt unwilling to have
"Sam" out of her life. Ultimately, the time between contacts grew longer, until at last, she knew it was over. What
haunted her long afterward, and still distressed
 
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her at the time of writing her account, was that she had kept the details of her ordeal a secret, even from her mother, with
whom she had otherwise been so close:
I wanted everyone to think everything was great. I regret that. I wish I could've talked to my parents, especially
my mom whom I hurt lot during this time by not confiding in her. My friends were supportive, although I didn't
talk to them about my problems either . . . Looking back on my relationship with "Sam," there are many things I
would do differently. . . . [M]ost importantly, I would have confronted my parents with the pregnancy and based a
decision on knowledge and understanding. . . .To anyone going through a similar breakup today, be strong. Don't
give up on yourself. Don't give up on life. . . . [T]alk to someone. Anyone. Your parents really can handle just
about anything you do because no matter what you are still their child.
An important lesson we learned in collecting people's accounts of loss and breakups is that these stories are not mere data
(though they certainly may contain information, that might be discerned and analyzed) and they are not related or
presented as such. The very process of writing or telling one's breakup account is meaningful to the respondent, now a
storyteller, a participant in a shared confidence, even if the listener or reader is a stranger. To the account maker, the
narration is no less an act of disclosure than if it were to a friend, perhaps more poignant because the confidant's motives
are unknown.
The symbolic interaction between the narrator and his or her idea of the audience requires the accounts researcher to
respect and honor these stories as gifts, personal offerings in their own right. They permit a glimpse into the narrator's
phenomenological world; it matters less whether the story is correct or verifiable than that it is offered as part of the
storyteller's own search for meaning in understanding what the loss has meant to him or her (Weber, 1992a). The
survivor of a breakup tells a very subjective story; instead of trying to decode it or cut through that subjectivity, it can be
appreciated in the context of the storyteller's life and quest for meaning.

This is Personal: Good Reasons to Study Breakups

Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. The heart of the wise is
in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.
Ecclesiastes, Chapter 7, verses 3-4; King James Version
My students sometimes ask whether it "does any good" to learn about close relationships, whether having information
and an intellectual grasp of
 
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relationship processes can substitute for common sense, the school of hard knocks, or pure misery. My answer is "yes."
Knowing about relationships in general can improve your specific experiences. In accounts work alone, for example, we
found that breakup stories often generate lessons and these, in turn, influence future expectations and plans to choose and
act differently next time (Harvey, Agostinelli, & Weber, 1989). Taking a broader view, understanding at least a few of
the patterns in relationship development and demise reduces the isolation and hopelessness in our grief when love ends.
"We read books in order to know we're not alone," remarks a character in the film Shadowlands, a movie about C.S.
Lewis' grief at the death of his wife. Grief remains painful and each griever's circumstances are unique, but the trauma of
loss is itself not new. We learn from each other, we forge better futures, and we use our minds as well as our hearts in
resolving to be smarter and stronger in intimacy.
Breakup Accounts
Throughout this chapter, I quote excerpts from breakup accounts I collected. In a 2-year period I collected 100 accounts
of nonmarital breakups that occurred sometime during the previous 2 years. Most of the accounts are from college
students and most involve heterosexual relationships. Yet, by soliciting accounts from local gay and lesbian support
groups and other community groups, I also managed to collect quite a few stories of same-sex relationships, older adult
couples, and other liaisons. All these accounts are one-sided, providing only one respondent's view of the relationship
and the breakup process, without the other ex-partner's input or counterpoint.
For this chapter, only a few accounts are cited to illustrate specific points about breaking up and coping. All names have
been changed, though ages and gender, where known, are provided accurately. The reader is encouraged to find ways of
collecting your own accounts of loss and carry on the work a few of us are only beginning.

The Breakup Process

In my personal and professional commiserations over breakups, I was struck by the familiarity of the scripts and plots
people say they were forced to play out when their relationships ended. Almost no romance is entered with a realistic
expectation that it will end any time soon. Whenever I ask my classes how many of my students expect to marry or find
true love some day, almost all hands go up; when I then ask how many
 
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expect to divorce or part forever from that partner, virtually none go up. Yet, almost all are aware of the grim
statisticsthat about one half of all marriages end in divorce. It is impossible to measure precisely, but surely far more than
half of nonmarital relationships change by ending, not by becoming more committed. Yet, the prospect of loss is painful,
regardless of whether it is culturally expected or if one has been there before. Before looking at the stages and processes
of breakup, we consider the risks involved in intimacy, and the incentives that make it worthwhile nonetheless.
Intimacy: A Cost-Benefit Analysis
Jones (Jones & Burdette, 1994) and others pointed out that, social creatures though we may be, we face two daunting
risks when we pursue intimacy with another: rejection and betrayal. Rejection can occur when the hoped-for relationship
never develops, is cut short, or fails or when the other expresses dissatisfaction. Betrayal is insidious, a threat that
emerges only if intimacy succeedsfor a time. The other, having the advantage of special information, having gained our
trust, turns around and turns on us, revealing our vulnerabilities, badmouthing us, teasing us with impunity, broadcasting
our secrets, lying, cheating, or playing us for fools. Such painful experiences, although familiar to many of us, may
actually be so unpleasant that we resist remembering them. We can barely bring ourselvesif we are not already steeped in
clinical depressionto think about such real losses. How then, and why, do most of us sneer at the consequences and, as it
were, leap into the fray? Why do we willingly hand that very risky unknown person our phone number? Why do we take
that heartbreaker back one more time? Why do we pour out our hearts, desperate soul mates that we would be, knowing
full well we might just be giving ammunition to an opportunist undeserving of our trust?
The Need to Belong. We are social creatures; we need each other, our presence, the possibility of closeness. Relationships
confer unique benefits on individuals, the promise of which can outweigh the liabilities of even risky liaisons. So it is
summed up by Alvie Singer, the character played by Woody Allen in Annie Hall the 1977 film about the upsound downs
of a relationship that finally has finally ended:
I thought of that old joke, you know, this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doc, uh, my brother's crazy. He
thinks he's a chicken." And, uh, the doctor says, "Well, why don't you turn him in?" And the guy says, "I would,
but I need the eggs." Well, I guess that's pretty much how I feel about relationships. You know, they're totally
irrational and crazy and absurd . . . but, uh, I guess we keep goin' through it because, uh, most of us need the
eggs. (Allen, 1982, p. 105)
 
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Intimacy is a test, and being rejected is failing that test. Failure is aversive even in trivial or purely symbolic ventures. In
the life-central endeavor to belong, to be close to others, to be included, failure is devastating. So why court disaster, why
set ourselves up for rejection, especially if we had past experience with heartbreak and have reason to suspect it might
not work out? The short answer is that "hope springs eternal in the human heart": Most of us persist in seeking intimacy
with others because we have a fundamental need to belong (Baumeister & Leary, 1995).
Decades of research in social psychology confirm that the presence of others lessens one's social anxiety, provides a
model for social comparison, and yields valuable information in ambiguous situations. Self-disclosure to trusted others is
essential to relationship development (Altman & Taylor, 1973; Derlega, 1997; Jourard, 1971). Opening up to confidants
facilitates healing after physical or emotional trauma (Pennebaker, 1990). Friendship provides social support and
validation, and romance further provides the legendary benefits of affection and the bliss of sexual union. In short, there
may be more good reasons to hope for relationship success than to fear the consequences of yet another failure. Not
taking a chance on love may be safe in terms of avoiding heartbreak, but it also guarantees one will forgo the benefits of
intimacy. Then again, this time, it just might work out.
Phases and Stages of Breakup: Weiss's Study of Marital Separation
Much of what we know about nonmarital breakups derives from work on either marital breakups or the study of
relationships that were intact when first studied. I often joked with classes who ask exactly how one studies "breakups"; I
tell them, "First, find a happy couple . . . then wait." (This is usually greeted with grim laughterit hits close to home in
some cases, although it does sum up the principle of longitudinal research!)
The sociologist Robert S. Weiss documented cases of fresh heartbreak by conducting a series of seminars for the
separated in the Boston area, summarizing themes and experiences of the participants in his 1975 work Marital
Separation. Early in the book, Weiss acknowledged the value of collecting and sifting through people's accounts in
search of patterns:
The account is of major psychological importance to the separated, not only because it settles the issue of who
was responsible for what, but also because it imposes on the confused marital events that preceded the separation
a plot structure with a beginning, middle, and end and so organizes the events into a conceptually manageable
unity. (p. 15)
In reviewing the accounts of maritally separated persons, Weiss identified several issues and concerns that help explain
some of what transpires
 
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during nonmarital breakups as well. I highlight three of those issues here: obsessive review, loneliness, and the
persistence of attachment.
Obsessive Review. Obsessive review involves a mental search for explanations, driven to some extent by "if only's" and
regrets. In Weiss' (1975) words, it is "a constant, absorbing, sometimes maddening preoccupation that refuses to accept
any conclusion" (p. 79). For the leaver, as well as the leavee, the end of the relationship is painful, even traumatic, and it
triggers a self-protective review of possible reasons and signs, which, if comprehended, one might use to predict and
prevent future losses. You learn from your mistakes only if you understand why you made them. Even if termination
made logical sense and you were the one who initiated the final break, this is not a scene you want to relive. Who, then,
is to blame? If not who, then what? Could you have prevented this by paying better attention? You may find it difficult
to sleep, as if nighttime vigilance could protect you from being victimized againas if your heart had been burglarized by
some nocturnal intruder.
Social psychologists recognize this flurry of attributional activity that a breakups triggersself or other? stable or
changeable? save face or save us? Holtzworth-Munroe and Jacobson (1985) observed that people are most likely to
engage in attributional activityasking "Why?" and seeking, or even making up, likely answersunder two conditions: when
something unexpected has occurred and when something unpleasant has happened. The experience of a breakup, whether
caused by your partner's sudden departure or as the culmination of terminal conflict, meets both these criteria. After a
breakups, the survivor's mind, whether breaker or breakee, is likely to become an attributional Disneyland (or more aptly
a house of horrors). Regardless of who left whom, both parties to relationship termination wonder, perhaps obsessively,
"What did I do wrong?" "When did it begin?" "What signs did I miss? Is this really the end?" "Is there any way to keep
from repeating this pain?''
Loneliness. In addition to this cognitive preoccupation that besets the newly separated, Weiss (1975) also found that
seminar participants complained of two distinct types of loneliness: emotional loneliness or isolation, focused on missing
one's intimate partner and losing the unique comforts of that relationship, and social loneliness, the disorientation and
excommunication one feels when one has lost one's place and marital status. Unquestionably, many nonmarital breakups
involve emotional loneliness just as intense as those who lost legal spouses. Social loneliness, however, may depend
more on the degree to which one's social network was dependent on, or infiltrated by, one's former partner. Longer
lasting
 
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relationships tend to have more overlap in their shared social networks; it may not be clear to the partnersor to the friends
themselveswho gets custody of the friends after a breakup. Formerly shared friends divide up camps, each taking the
other side as if in a war. Friends of both partners may feel awkward, caught in the middle, forced to take sides or betray
confidences. Some acquaintances (or two-faced friends) may even seize on the breakups as an opportunity to impugn or
wield power over the survivor. Consider the dilemma of this respondent, a woman who had a long-term lesbian affair
with a still-married woman whose husband approvedwhat she described in her account as a "somewhat sick affair." The
respondent was rebuffed after the husband divorced his wife, and the ex-wife blamed her lesbian lover for all the
problems that led to the divorce:
I was financially insecure, isolated . . . I tried to make other friends . . . My family was not involved. The people
that I associated with, for the most part, did not discourage my isolation. I spoke with a couple of people about
the breakup and they were just as dysfunctional as me, therefore it didn't help. Sometimes I'd just allow people to
make snide remarks to me and I wouldn't try to defend myself or explain. (49-year-old counselor)
Sociologists have a term, dyadic crystallization, for the process in which two people are perceived as close enough for a
long enough period of time to be considered a "couple" by both themselves as well as others. From this point, much of
their social identity is construed in the context of their relationship. Thus, the breakup destroys part of each partner's
social identity, leaving him or her to wonder, "Who are my friends? What is my life now? Where do I fit in?"
I went into the supermarketI go into the supermarket almost every day because I have three kidsand everything
looked different. The people looked different. I looked at their faces and I wondered what their lives were like.
(Woman, early thirties, newly separated; in Weiss, 1975, pp. 75-76)
The breakup was difficult for me because from the time I was 15 to the time I was 19 I didn't know what it was
like to be alone. It took me a long while to figure out that being alone doesn't always mean being lonely . . .
Unfortunately I was the type of person who didn't like to discuss my problems with others . . . My friends were
supportive, although I didn't talk to them about my problems either. They took me out, though, and got me
circulating. When Sam would try to get in touch with me again, as he often did, they would stand by me and tell
me how I deserved better. (21-year-old female college student)
The Persistence of Attachment. Finally, a part of the continued disorientation of those who have survived both marital
and nonmarital breakups is that one's former partner is still out there, living evidence of the failure of
 
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the relationship. This is a key distinction between the grief caused by a breakup and that caused by the death of one's
partner. After a breakups, the visibility and social activity of one's ex exaggerates the individual's plight. If you have been
left, his or her presence in your social network suggests that you are easily rejectable. If you are the one who left, he or
she may offer testimony to all who would listen to your guilt and betrayal. Either way, post-breakup adjustment is
stressful as well as mournful. You must try to find a way to save face and construct a convincing version of events
before you can continue your social life.
The former partner's "thereness" is even more poignant in one's private life. In the accounts I collected, few respondents
tell stories of a clean break; most breakups are lingering, vacillating processeson again and off again. These stories
describe repeated phone calls by both parties, running into each other, fantasizing about revenge or reconciliation, and
feeling self-conscious about whether they will meet and how they will appear to each other. Weiss explained this among
separated couples in terms of the persistence of attachmenta long-established need for each other's presence that is not
severed by simple changes of heart, geography, or social status. Things the two had in common may still be important to
each of them, such as music, sports events, or vacation destinations. This can make awkward post-breakup encounters
inevitable, unless one or the other surrenders the passion.
Some years ago, I had a close friendship with a married couple, call them "Joe" and "Elaine," who split up after a few
years when Joe suddenly left, complaining that he had been unhappy. Once divorced, Joe briefly dated different women
for a while and then attended his high school reunion in another state, where he met an old sweetheart, "Sally," also
recently divorced. Falling in love all over again, Joe and Sally soon married. Meanwhile, Elaine, who had always shared
Joe's enthusiasm for local basketball, faithfully attended the games, both alone and with friends. Once, after Joe and Sally
had been married about 1 year, Sally complained to me that she wished she could accompany Joe to the games, but felt
uncomfortable doing so because they usually saw Elaine among the fans in attendance. "Why doesn't she just let go?"
Sally whined. I wondered aloud whether Elaine even wanted to run into Joe, especially now that Joe had a new spouse
and new life. Elaine already gave up Joe; why should she also give up basketball?
Sally had a point about the persistence of attachment. Elaine probably did look for Joe at these events, at least in the first
months after their separation. Later, Sally may have picked up on some residual longing or attachment or even felt
resentment or jealousy about the life that Elaine, unlike herself, had with Joe for so many years. (Seeing your partner's ex
 
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also reminds you that you, too, are not irreplaceable.) The intimacy once shared by former partners ends when they part,
and becomes historybut history is not nothing. One's memories of what once existed, of shared experiences and passions,
continues to be a source of pleasure and pain, a focus of wonder and resignation, for the remainder of life, irrespective of
new life choices and partners. Thus, attachment to one's ex can persist and continue to shape thought, feeling, and
behavior.
The End of 103 Affairs
Although work on relationship dissolution was primarily focused on marital relationships until well into the 1980s, a
breakup breakthrough occurred in 1976 when Hill, Rubin, and Peplau accomplished the kind of work most of us only
dream: From an enormous sample of 2,520 college students in the Boston area, they solicited 231 heterosexual dating
couples in which both partners agreed to complete questionnaires about their relationship over a period of 2 years. At the
end of 2 years, 103 of the couples had broken up, but material collected during the initial questionnaire (completed by
intact couples) provided some clues about possible predictor variables for an eventual breakups outcome. In other words,
Hill et al. were able, once they knew which couples had broken up, to go back and examine their data on the broken and
unbroken couples; they were able to discern any fatal flaws that may have been there from the start. The researchers also
asked, during their follow-up interviews, about some aspects and attitudes of the process of breakup. What they found
was extremely interesting and is worth knowing before any of us breakups aficionados goes out to reinvent the wheel.
Predictors of Breakups. What caused the breakups? Although Hill et al. (1976) did not specifically inquire about conflict
issues or communication problems, they asked respondents for many self-descriptions and were later able to conclude
that certain kinds of dissimilarity among the then dating couples were related to later breakup risk: dissimilarities in age,
highest degree planned, math and verbal SAT scores, and physical attractiveness. The better the match between partners,
the better their prospects for staying together. Ultimately, Hill et al. favored the theoretical view that filters continually
operate throughout selection and relationship development, but did not favor that such filters kicked in at specific points
in a fixed sequence. Once two people were paired, the fate of their relationship depended, to some extent on how they felt
about each other and the degree of that feeling. Those who "loved" each otherfelt both attached and intimatewere more
like to stay together than those who
 
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"liked" each other (evaluated each other favorably, but without implications of need or closeness; Rubin, 1973). Living
together or having sex were unrelated to eventual breakup, presumably because while both deepen intimacy, they also
introduce new possibilities for conflict and inequity.
The Breakup Process. For this chapter, the most interesting findings in the 103 affairs study related to the process of
breaking uptiming, initiation, and gender differences. Hill et al. (1976) found that, not surprisingly, the peak seasons for
breakup coincided with changes in the academic year: Respondents were most likely to break up over the winter semester
break, at the beginning of the summer break, and at the end of summer when classes began again. In other words,
changes already occurring in people's lives bring home issues such as housing, travel, work, and play so that the future of
the relationship must be carefully evaluated, as well as decisions made about whether to remain together or part ways.
Furthermore, although Hill et al. pointed out that "there are two sides to every breakup" (p. 158), very few such partings
are truly mutual. Their data showed that women were more likely to be the actual initiators of the breakup than were
men, but respondents showed a "systematic self-bias" in explaining whose actions or needs had precipitated the breakup,
seeing themselves, rather than their partners, as the agents of change.
Impact. Finally, what was the impact of breakup on these couples? Unfortunately, Hill et al. (1976) were able to obtain 1-
year-later data from only 15 couples who had broken up. Among these, however, they confirmed that the men had been
hit harder by the breakup than the women had been. The men described feeling more depressed, lonely, unhappy, less
freebut also less guilty. "Some men found it extremely difficult to reconcile themselves to the fact that they were no
longer loved and that the relationship was over" (p. 163). To summarize, Hill et al. found that women were less
sentimental and clingy (than many popular stereotypes of the time) as well as more pragmatic about the future of their
relationships and the consequences of commitment for their own lives. In terms of simple economics, having less social
status and power in general, women could less afford to make a bad choice or invest in a risky or unpromising
relationship than could men.
Hill et al. (1976) did their research on nonmarital breakups in the context of studying marital planning; the authors
quoted the avuncular advice, "The best divorce is the one you get before you get married" (p. 147). Non- or premarital
breakups may be seen as a type of filtering (a rather harsh type) or a trial-and-error experience one endures in order to
find out what works. "Marriages seldom end so casually" as do nonmarital
 
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breakups, they pointed out (p. 164). There is an important clue here to the irony of such loss: Nonmarital breakups do not
entail the baggageliteral, personal, or socialof divorce. They are inevitably easier and less costly; this very ease and
economy may make breaking up a pattern, whereas commitment remains an elusive, ever idealized "brass ring," a prize
for which one reaches, to no avail. If nonmarital breakups were not so easy or casual, more of us would be stuck in limbo
longer not quite sure if we are on or off, whether this is it, or that this latest quarrel is just another in a continuing
miserable series of arguments (Colgrove, Bloomfield & McWilliams, 1991). Hill et al. (1976) pointed out that breakups
are especially difficult for those who resist self-examination and confrontation. Thus, nonmarital relationship loss, a
process rather than an event, can be consciously experienced, something one learns from, if only it can be faced and
acknowledged.
The Two Sides of a Breakup. Hill et al. (1976) expanded on the differences between the one who really initiated the
breakup versus the one who is broken up with. Weiss (1975) similarly distinguished between the rejection suffered by the
leavee and the guilt (even during relief) experienced by the leaver.
In their eloquent study of unrequited love, Baumeister and Wotman (1992) went further, suggesting that in cases of
unrequited loveif not in breakupit is the one who does not reciprocate or does not wish to continue the relationship who
really finds himself or herself in the more miserable role. Consider this: If you love someone in vain, you might at least
comfort yourself with the idea that at least you tried, "'tis better to have loved and lost," or that there is nobility in
offering your heart to another, especially without thought of the outcome or hope of success. In contrast, if someone loves
you, but you no longer feel that wayor perhaps never did!"you are damned if you do and damned if you don't." If you
honestly and clearly reject the other, you are the worst sort of heartbreaker, but if you try to be kind with indirectness or
platonic consideration, you are leading him or her on. The target of unwanted love is in an existentially odd spot: Who
would not want love? Yet, Baumeister and Wotman found many respondents with stories about being the unwilling
recipients of others' affections and most of those agreed theirs was an awful experience, personally and socially (see
chap. 10, this volume). The giver of love, if it is likely to be unrequited, might fail to consider the negative impact of
these unwanted attentions. If this were really loveincluding affection and concern for the other's welfare as well as
attraction and needthen the unrequited lover ought to try sympathizing, realistically, with the recipient. Judy Collins sang,
"I've looked at love from both sides now." If
 
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each party to conflict or breakup considered the other side, conflict might not become terminal, communication might
improve, and grieving might be lessened when things do not work out.
Duck's Topographical Model
The fact that breaking up is a process and not a state or event is central to Duck's (1982) proposed topographical model of
relationship disengagement and dissolution. After reviewing the literature on dissolved or terminated relationships
(somewhat irrespective of marital status), Duck identified four latent models of dissolution: pre-existing doom,
mechanical failure, process loss, and sudden death. Pre-existing doom describes the fate of those couples who, among
Hill, Rubin, and Peplau's (1976) respondents, were badly matched from the start, so that whatever their attraction might
be, it could not overcome inevitable clashes of background, goals, and values. Mechanical failure occurs when things
breakwhen communication is poor, or interactions go badly. Some mechanical failures may be the result of unique,
emergent properties of the relationshipqualities and processes produced by the partners' distinctive blend of styles and
motives. Other mechanical failures, however, harken back to pre-dooming problems and mismatches, the symptoms of
which only showed up after some wear and tear and time. Process loss refers to the slow death some relationships die
when they never reach their potentialfor example, their potential satisfaction or pleasure for both partnersbecause of fault
and poor productivity on the part of one or both members of the dyad. Process loss leads to dissatisfaction in at least one
partner's estimationthe first step, as we see in the next section, that sets in motion the four phases of dissolution.
Finally, Duck (1982) described how new information about one partnerproof of deception or betrayal, for examplecan
produce the sudden death of the developing relationship. Trust is slow-growing but fragile and easily broken. Davis
(1973) also used this term and described three conditions that produce what he called "sudden death": two-sided
subsidence, in which both partners maintain, for diverse reasons, a formal association that is no longer truly intimate;
one-sided subsidence, in which one partner hangs on, dependently, while the other actively seeks to end the relationship;
and zero-sided subsidencean abrupt ending caused primarily by outside factors, such as an out-of-control argument that
ends in an ultimatum or a rash choice in speech or action (uttering an insult or being unfaithful) that goes too far and
makes retreat or repair impossible.
In contrast with Davis, Duck (1982) proposed that despite vicious or extreme circumstances, "there is no psychological
necessity that such
 
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things do indeed cause the sudden death of the relationship: if they do, then they have to be allowed to do so, or
identified as causes; but they may simply cause the intimacy or relationship level to be cranked back a notch, as when
partners remain friends after divorce." (p. 7).
Duck also pointed out that not all rash acts precede dissolution, but sometimes follow it in fatalistic response to a fait
accompli or in a wrong-headed scheme to redress imagined wrongs that have driven him or her to this pass. For example,
if your partner believes that you cheated and has been punishing you for this until now imaginary infraction, perhaps you
might as well pursue that affair you have been fantasizing aboutright?
Phases of Dissolution. Most interesting in Duck's (1982) description of the breakup process is his proposed topographical
model or map of the phases of dissolution. The reference to topography is especially apt considering that, in several
respondents' accounts, references are made to feeling "lost" and trying to "find their way" from the beginning to the end
of some fixed space. Any discussion of loss lends itself to map-like metaphors of place: Heartbreak Hotel, the land of the
living dead, graveyards, bleak terrain and wasteland, swamps and quagmires, and murky and bog-like conditionseven
"Been there, done that," and "I've been through that myself" both allude to a ''thereness" of loss. The walking wounded
and other veterans of relationship loss are essentially travelers without a clear destinationwander in the dark, adrift in the
cosmos, lost and abandoned, keenly aware of being in transition in a way their stable (stationary) acquaintances are not.
We did not see the signs, never saw what hit us, and cannot find the light at the end of the tunnel . . . (excuse me while I
extricate myself from this appealing but murky metaphor and return to dry land and dry humor).
Duck (1982) identified four phases of relationship dissolution, each entered after one or both partners cross a cognitive
threshold, each with distinctive tasks and possibilities:
1. The intrapsychic phase begins when one partner, feeling dissatisfied, realizes, "I can't stand this any more." A secret
search is begun to understand what is wrong with the partner, whether and how, it can be fixed, and what it would take to
feel satisfied. Vaughan (1986) began her book Uncoupling with the assertion that "Uncoupling begins with a secret" (p.
11). In Duck's model, this secret is "I am unhappy" or some variation thereon, festering and intensifying as it is kept
secret throughout one's intrapsychic ruminations.
2. A threshold"I'd be justified in withdrawing"is crossed when the dissatisfied partner resolves to confront the other
person, beginning the dyadic phase. This takes one into dreaded and uncharted territory: How will the other react? What
if we can still work it outdo I want that? Issues may be negotiated, the relationship itself redefined and even repaired.
There may be fights, certainly argumentsthis will not
 
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be a fun time for either partner. No wonder the intrapsychic partner may put off confrontation, even put off privately
acknowledging critical dissatisfaction. Thus, misery can be tolerated and the intrapsychic phase drags on and on. Even
the dyadic phase is only concluded when both partners resolve either to dissolve or repair the relationship. With two
ambivalent people and the distractions of modern life, a couple might conceivably exist in this struggle indefinitely. If
one of them gets so fed up as to conclude "I mean it" and determine to depart, he or she enters the next phase.
3. If the resolution is reached to dissolve the relationship, both soon-to-be-ex-partners enter the social phase, in which
they figure out what happened, how to explain it to their respective social circles (including placing blame and saving
face), and what to do next. For these many tasks, they rely on account making, mourning, gossip mongering, and even
oscillating between reconciliation and total withdrawal. Yet, if "It's now inevitable," they both cross the threshold into the
last phase of relationship dissolution.
4. The picturesquely-named grave-dressing phase captures the deceptively simple business of trying "To get over it all
and put it behind one" (Duck, 1982, p. 25, Figure 5). Much must be done, and it can take a lifetime (Harvey et al., 1990).
Yet, the immediate, pragmatic focus of now ex-partners is to create an acceptable story about their love and loss, to tidy
up their memories, and to do whatever cognitive work is necessaryreflection, attribution, rationalization, reassessment of
Self and Otherin order to get over the now deceased relationship. The relationship is dead and buried, but the grave
marker can still be carved, and revised, and the whole legend prettified in order to glean some personal and/or social
value from the loss.
In our work with accounts of loss (Harvey, 1996; Harvey et al., 1989; Harvey, Weber, & Orbuck 1990), we found that,
over time, accounts of past relationships are modified, both in the mind and the delivery of the account maker. This
modification is not unlike what happens when a rumor is repeated and reiterated. First, the version related (both to others
and to oneself) is shortened and condensed ("Basically there were just a couple of things wrong with my last relationship
. . ."); the highlights are exaggerated, while contextual detail is omitted ("My partner was basically very self-centered,
and I was too eager to please"); and finally, the story is adapted to assimilate the storyteller's own value system or self-
biases ("We finally agreed to part amicably rather than continue to struggle with something that wasn't meant to be").
When relating the account to a confidant, or to one's social audience for social or entertainment value, the account maker
also adjusts the rendition, á la self-monitoring, to suit the listener's preferences or status. For example, if your boyfriend
dumps you, you might whine to your girlfriend ''He just dropped this bombshell on me, at the worst possible time, and
I'm a basket case!" whereas, in the same evening, you confide to your mother by phone that "He and I have agreed to see
other people for a while, and I think it's really for the best."
 
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Experiencing Grief
In late October, Roddy was lying on the table in the finch room. His eyes were open, and he was looking at a half-
opened window in the skylight. A bird flew across it. He heard the door open, but didn't look up . . . Mary walked into
the finch room, and Roddy sat up on the table. He looked at her through an opening in the cages, and she stared back
like a startled animal. He could not imagine what she was reading on his face, but when he focused he could see what
was on hers. It was pure grief . . .
Laurie Colwin, "Animal Behavior," in Passion and Affect, (1976), p. 33
The legacies of Weiss, Hill et al., and Duck all provide a growing precision and confidence about examining breakups
through the eyes of the broken; developing sound strategies for collecting data on breakup processes, difficult as it is to
document the events; and a theoretical logic for assembling different levels and genres of experiences into a discernible
road map of relationship dissolution. A somewhat differentbut still complementarytactic is taken by scholars who focus
more on tasks than on their predictable order or sequence. Here, three task-oriented perspectives are reviewed: a general
discussion of the tasks of grief, especially from the point of view of counselors; a focus on how partners communicate
about disengagement; and a script of common, even essential, disengagement interactions.
The Tasks of Grief
Two Danish practitioners, Leick and Davidsen-Nielsen (1991), synthesized their findings in their clinical work with
bereaved clients in Healing pain: Attachment, Loss and Grief Therapy. For Leick and Davidsen-Nielsen, grieving could
not be described by any sequential or linear model. They found that grieving persons often cycled and recycledsome in
seemingly endless loopsthrough once-covered terrain, until at last they accomplished some task necessary for
psychological recovery. In interviews and in content-analyses of clients' accounts, Leick and Davidsen-Nielsen identified
the tasks central to this process:
1. The individual must recognize the fact of the loss.
2. He or she must release the emotions of grief.
3. The bereaved person must not only pick up the pieces and develop face-saving attributions, but must develop
new skills for the new life that lies ahead.
4. Finally, he or she must cease expectations of reconciliation or relinquish fantasies that block realistic thinking,
and instead reinvest emotional energy in new interactions and relationships.
 
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This task model of grieving honors the process-orientation of reacting to loss, as opposed to the state or event
characterization. Furthermore, Leick and Davidsen-Nielsen focused on grief not only attendant to death or relationship
dissolution, but also other kinds of losses such as depression, developmental crises (such as retirement), physical
handicap, trauma, and illness. This model does not try to be an "all-purpose theory of grief," but rather a review of what
grieving individuals must accomplish in order to deal with their losses and move on.
Applying the task model to nonmarital breakups, we encourage our clients, students, respondents, and ourselves to
recognize that, after a loss, subjective as it may be in its import and impact, we must consider how and when we are to
accomplish these tasks. We must expect them to interweave and we must tolerate some "unfinishedness" at any given
point in the process. According to Leick and Davidsen-Nielson, the order of processes is not as important as the
completion of the tasks.
Communicating and Disengagement
Duck (1982) and Vaughan (1986) both acknowledged that a breakup begins in the mind of one dissatisfied partner, who
must determine whether and how to proceed. Yet, both also agreed that proceeding absolutely requires communicating
with the other person. The longer the unhappy partner postpones the confrontation, the more matters between the two are
likely to deteriorateunless he or she has a change of heart. Yet, in this case, silence on the part of the dissatisfied and
intrapsychically consternated partner creates not only exclusion (leaving the other out of decisions that are highly
consequential for both) but also illusion (allowing the other to go on believing that things, however imperfect, are fine
between them).
The departing partner's silence, prior to entering the sudden death phase, causes the shock and dismay that many of my
respondents reported when they were the breakees because they did not see it coming:
I was destroyed. I did not expect a breakup at all. She broke up with me the day after Christmas. I was in literal
shock for a week. I couldn't eat, sleep, or function normally in school. My grades dropped a little . . . I never
found out why we broke up. I was left to only guess . . . . I was devastated. I couldn't let her go. I never accepted
for a long while [afterward] that she was gone, never to be in my arms again. (18-year-old heterosexual male)
As important as it is to both parties' mental health to experience clarity and honesty about the end of their relationship,
such discourse is oddly easier said than done. No one wants to be the bad guy by admitting his or
 
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her loss of interest; we further tell ourselves it would be cruel to reject the other outright and much kinder to let things
drift, or even to provoke the other person into being the rejector: "I knew that if I told her that I did not want to continue
the relationship it would really hurt her, so I thought I would be an `asshole' for a while to make her like me less and then
I would tell her" (Baxter, 1984, p. 37).
Trajectories of Disengagement. Communication scholars contributed a unique perspective to the literature on breakups by
examining the ways partners door do nottalk to each other about their dissatisfaction or intentions to leave. Baxter (1984)
analyzed 97 heterosexual breakup accounts, identifying six distinctive features of the breakup process that might be
traced through a flowchart, a series of choices or trajectories in discourse between parting partners.
1. Gradual versus sudden onset of relationship problems.
2. Unilateral versus bilateral desire to exit the relationship.
3. Direct versus indirect actions used to effect dissolution.
4. Rapid versus protracted negotiation of the breakup.
5. Presence or absence of efforts to repair the relationship.
6. Termination versus continuation as the final outcome.
Most germane to this discussion is Baxter's (1984) finding that most decisions to exit a relationship were unilateral, and
most unilateral disengagement talk is indirect, consisting of hints or general complaints rather than a direct expression of
a desire to breakup. By withholding any clear, explicit declaration of intention to leavewhether out of scriptlessness,
confusion, or a concern that the left partner "can't take it"the leaver allows the left partner to wallow in ambiguity, unsure
whether the relationship is on or off, and what his or her response options might be. It is then that we are most likely to
make fools of ourselves (or most fearful of doing so). The solution to this misery cannot lie in making dissatisfied
partners stay, but rather equipping both partners with strategies to communicate information and feelings assertively and
clearly. It is not enough to "just say `go'"; we need scripts.
Separation Scripts. Did someone say we needed a script? Lee (1984) proposed five possible stages in dissolution:
discovery of dissatisfaction, exposure (bringing the problem out into the open), negotiation (serious discussion about
what to do), resolution (a decision by one or both partners), and, transformation (an actual change in the nature of the
relationship). Lee argued that either partner can be the agent of change (or operator) at various stages of the breakup.
Breakups vary in the content
 
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of the issues that have brought them into conflict or dissatisfaction, and in the latency or duration of each of the stages.
Finally, Lee pointed out that not every breakup explicitly cover all five stages; breakups with missing stages are described
as omission formats. Other formats extend the ordeal or mix the formats, combining and re-ordering tasks to produce
convoluted termination scenarios. Thus, Lee suggested, we have scripts of a sortor perhaps cognitive scenes and
vignettesfor possible confrontations, dialogues, and outcomes in our breakups. It is easy to see how popular culture, song
lyrics, and film and video images contribute to a rich lore of such script elements without sufficient connective logic or
reality to make them work. However, ideas and ideals are no substitute for practiced, careful communication.
"Tell Me Something"
If we are lucky enough to have communication, even during otherwise painful disengagement, we might at least piece
together the nature and meaning of the loss, and the moral of the story for our own lives and futures. If we were "taken
in, we can resolve to be more cautious next time; if we were betrayed, perhaps we can learn to recognize the signs so that
future deceptions are less life-disrupting and recovering is easier.
How awful will it be after a breakup? Clearly, it dependsbut depends on what? Simpson (1987) surveyed over 200
undergraduates involved in a steady dating relationship, but who were not engaged or married. Three months after the
initial survey, almost 95% of the original respondents completed follow-up measures of their relationships' status,
intensity, and duration. Among 10 predictor variables, Simpson found three in particular that predicted the intensity and
duration of emotional distress in the case of breakup: (a) how close the dating partners were reported to have been, (b)
how long the pair had been dating at the time of the initial survey, and (c) respondents' expected ease of finding an
alternative partner. Applying these findings to breakups in general, we conclude that we are more likely to suffer and
grieve if we were close to the lost partner (Weiss' concept of emotional loneliness), if we were a couple for a relatively
long time (dyadic crystallization, as well as integration of couplehood into one's social identity), and if postbreakup
social prospects are bleak or difficult (social isolation, bruised esteem, and loss of hope).
If these circumstancescloseness, duration, and belief in available alternativesare predictors of post-breakup distress, why
do we not take preventive measures? For one thing, preventing distress would also prevent commitment, which is
arguably a major goal of many nonmarital relationships. In other words, applying Simpson's conclusions, we might
anticipate
 
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and prevent post-breakup distress by reducing closenessby keeping our partner at arm's length, at least psychologically.
Furthermore, keep it shortdo not see each other too long, or you'll get hung up and expect too much. Finally, keep your
options open, diversify your relationship investment portfolio, and you will not be disproportionately wounded when any
one partner leaves. So what have you got when you are not close to your partner, have been seeing this person only
briefly, and see other people? Well, it is not intimacy. Simpson's ingenious survey highlights the chicken-and-egg
problem or more specifically, the "we-need-the-eggs" problem. The very qualities and experiences we seek from another
are at risk as intimacy develops. We can only protect ourselves from loss by doing without them in the first place.
Left Hanging. When I was a sophomore in college, I met and fell for "Geoff," a Big Man on Campus who was popular,
attractive, an officer in the "best" fraternity, and a known heartbreaker. Despite warnings from friends not to get "hung
up," I found him engaging and easy to like. I looked forward to our times together, and saw no dark clouds in our future.
Geoff, a senior, graduated at the end of the semester and went to work in a town some distance away, but I lived only 1
hour away and we continued to date during the summer. We wrote almost daily (this was long before e-mail and long-
distance calls were prohibitively expensive for us). Although we were not emotionally close, we dated steadily and, I
believed, exclusively; I thought our best days lay ahead. One weekday, Geoff called me at my job from his, to tell me
excitedly that he had just been notified of acceptance for postgraduate study. He promised before he hung up, ''I'll drive
home on Saturday and call you from my Mom's. We'll go out and celebrate on Saturday night." Happy for him, and
excited about our weekend, I waited for his call, but I never heard from Geoff again.
Thus, began one of the most anguishing and baffling periods of post-breakup grief in my life. For weeks, I did not know
what happened. Had he deliberately lied before disappearing from my life or was he in some sort of trouble? His mother
never returned my calls, and our few mutual friends did not know or were not talking. I felt anguished, was an
insomniac, and became obsessed. I pretended all was well, continued to write letters with carefully worded "curiosity"
about what became of him. I suspected the worst"dumped again"but could not understand why it had happened or why
he would not just level with me. Did he fear a scene, or dread having to account for his actions? The rest of the summer I
wondered, pined, wrote (less and less often), and finally resigned myself to being a victim of the very "hung-upness" I'd
been warned about. Summer ended, I wrapped up work at my job, and returned to the campus that had
 
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been the scene of so many good times. I played and replayed albums of maudlin love and heartbreak.
I had dreamsof running into him, or finding he had returned with apologies or explanations. Yet, Geoff, the one person
who could give me actual information, never showed up or even bothered to write me a Dear Jane letternot during the
time I was dealing with my confusion and bereavement. (A few years later, I actually did run into him at an alumni
affair. We had a pleasant conversation, chatted about our lives since graduation, and I met his new wife. A model of
restraint, I never once said, "So what the hell happened that summer?!")
During the autumn of my Geoff grief, my old friend Kathy helped get me through the craziness with humor and
perspective. A rueful, funny veteran of such kiss-offs, she grasped my need to understand, to label this disappointment as
a "noncatastrophe," in order to get over it. Kathy reminded me of humor, of relevant lyrics in favorite songs from our
high school years, and gently suggested that my disappointment in this deception was sad but not tragic. I would not only
get over it, but I would learn from it. Together we speculated on what really happened, finally agreeing it was most likely
not a bang, but a whimper: Geoff had probably met someone, put off telling me, and found it harder with every passing
day to do the right thing, especially as I kept writing letters full of confusion and forgiveness. We were apart anyway, so
we were not likely to run into each other and have awkward moments. We only dated a few months, so our circle of
mutual friends was small and not much affected by whether or not we broke up. Perhaps he did not mean to break off all
contact with me, but doing so certainly put off an unpleasant chore. We just were not that close after all, so it was not
that hard for him to rationalize the breakup. End of storyprobably.
Eventually I forgot my pain, healed, and moved onwith social support from Kathy and the involvement of work once my
college studies resumed. Yet, I never forgot the strange obsession and sorrow that were caused more by not knowing
than by the loss of a relationship, which had, after all, been neither central nor close. What I had lost was potential, the
promise of a better relationship to come, and the sense that I had some control over my social fate, an equal contribution
to make in a romantic partnership. Geoff's silence, which to this day I have never been able to explain, left me with a
hole in my social confidence and self-esteem. Bad news would have been welcomeI expected it. Yet, endlessly not
knowing, despite good guesses about why he disappeared, left me confused, hurt, and mistrustful.
The Need for Meaning. Cognitively and emotionally, one of the most painful consequences of a breakup is the confusion
and doubt it creates,
 
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especially if one was clearly rejected or abandoned. Several years ago, I surveyed my classes about various reasons for
breakups and assembled their offerings into a checklist: note enough in common; frequent arguments; partner cheats;
intolerable jealousy, and so on. I then asked all my students to rank the "top five worst reasons" for a breakup, and
scanned their results to discern a pattern. I found no obvious gender or other effects (this was a class exercise, not a
formal analysis), but I discovered a consistent, glaring trend: The number one "worst reason" was partner leaves without
explanation (or, as I still thought of it, the Geoff effect). In class discussions, students agreed that this scenario was the
most painful, even among other reasons (such as being cheated on or left for a former love) that entailed considerable
humiliation and anguish. What makes no explanation so horrible?
Humans need input, information, explanations, sometimes so desperately that we settle for rumor or fantasy in the
absence of empirical data. Thus, we might happily accept bad news rather than no news at all: Your ex-partner is not
sparing your feelings by avoiding contact and refusing to tell you directly that the relationship is over, but rather initiating
a frustrating and tenacious search for meaning. How can you move on, if you do not know where you have been or how
exactly you ended up there?
The Need for Closure. In the event of a breakup, one is not satisfied with information, one also needs justification and
closure. If you are lucky enough to get reasons from your ex, are those reasons good enough in your opinion? Do they
justify the expense to you in pain, sorrow, and social discomfort? An ample literature on self-justification and cognitive
dissonance attests to our desire for getting things right, or at least making them look or feel right. Furthermore, do the
reasons offered by your former partner make senseare they valid explanations or excuses for the trauma that ended your
relationship with the other? This need for closure is a conscious desire to save face and repair damaged pride and self-
esteem: "At least she admitted she took the coward's way out, leaving me like that with a note and some lame complaint
about having to `find herself,'" one friend told me.
Our need for closure also comes from a less conscious, more basic cognitive agenda (Weber, 1992b). In 1938, Kurt
Lewin's student Bluma Zeigarnik published a now classic study showing that subjects who were interrupted and
prevented from finishing various tasks (such as reading short selections or working puzzles) retained more details of the
unfinished tasks in memory than did subjects who were permitted to complete (and presumably, file away) the same
tasks. In short, unfinished business is likely to nag us, whether it be the suspended farewell address that would finally
 
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terminate the relationship (Davis, 1973), an accounting of the dissatisfied partner's arguments (Duck, 1982), or the
opportunity for the wronged party to make some sort of response or rebuttal. Without a final act or interaction, the
relationship lacks finishedness; it may even seem to continue in some eerie, surreal sense as long as the leavee remains
loyal to the memory of the other or holds on to the hope that he or she will return. In Thomas Hardy's Far from the
Maddening Crowd, Bathsheba gets as far as her wedding day before her long-lost legal husband suddenly returnswith
tragic consequences. The effect of such stories, fictional or true, on those who are left and bereft can only be to support
continued wonder and confusion: "Is it really over? I haven't heard anything. For all I know, everything is fine . . ."
except the mail (or whatever is preventing the other person from getting in touch). Without receiving word, one cannot
begin to comprehend what happened or even to rationalize it convincingly to oneself.
Comprehension and Control
"Geese mate for life," my mother said, just out of the blue, as we were driving. "I hope you know that. They're special
birds." "I know that," Glen said in the front seat. "I have every respect for them." "So where were you for three
months?'' she said. "I'm only curious."
Ford, 1987, p. 219
In Ford's short story "Communist," the narrator, Les, remembers a day when he was 16-years-old and his mother's ex-
boyfriend showed up to take him geese hunting. When Glen first arrives, Les's mother Aileen displays pent-up anger and
bitterness, and initially refuses to accompany them. Yet, her curiosity about why Glen disappeared for some time and
what the day together might be like leads her to join the excursion. Despite her silence and disapproval, she manages to
ask the question many abandoned lovers anguish over: Where were you? Why did you leave? For that matter, why have
you come back?
Ford's story is compelling and complex, but it is fiction, and therefore, Aileen gets the chance, rare in real life, not only to
ask her question (and get a predictably unsatisfying reply), but also to confront something about Glen and herself that
makes it easier to let go of her ideals about that relationship. In real life, such confrontations are dreamed ofthey would
answer so muchbut they are difficult to engineer. When someone does not call you, you may not have the social power to
initiate the call. You may fear losing face or overreacting and ruining a fragile connection. To this day, I think of the
Geoff period I described earlier as a time of odd
 
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sadness, nagging insecurity, and important lessons. Part of its poignancy for me is that I was young then and things hit
me harder. Yet, I still wish I knew why Geoff disappeared. I had been through what Harvey (1996) called a haunting
loss, one that caused distress that lingered over time. Typical of losses that haunt are feelings of regret, plaguing bouts of
"what ifs" and other obsessive thoughts, and memories that recur in ways that seem beyond one's control. To be sure,
Harvey described haunting mainly in the context of loss caused by the death of loved ones. To apply it to nonmarital
breakups, seems to trivialize or diminish the real anguish suffered by the survivors of trauma.
My point is really to reflect on the niggling, demoralizing effects of any failure or rejection that seems inexplicable. If we
do not know what happened, we do not know how to prevent it from happening again. We may be tempted to blame
ourselves for the sheer sense of familiarity that comes from self-accusation. If I think it was my fault he left me, then
even if it was not, at least I can make plansincluding paying more attention to the "telltale signs" of my partner's
dissatisfaction or to being less of a chump and demanding to know what happenednext time around.
Confrontation. Armed with past self-blame and the resolution to find out reasons if I ever got the chance, years ago I
finally confronted one man, call him "Mark," and demanded an explanation for his disappearance. Months earlier we
dated exclusively and happily. One day, he returned from a weekend trip out of town and was different. He did not call
for days, he was icily remote on the phone when I finally called him, and by now, I knew the drill: He changed his mind
about us somehow during the 48 hours he visited old friends and it was clearly over. I recovered fairly quickly but was
sad and baffled; why, I asked my close friends, didn't he just `fess up and tell me it was over, and explain why? Why
seemed to be so elusive to so many breakup veterans, it became the Holy Grail of the dating gamea noble but vain quest.
The change in Mark was so sudden and complete, I likened it to what the aliens did to their victims in the 1956 film
Invasion of the Body Snatchers: "The pods got him," I concluded to one friend. For all intents and purposes, the Mark I
knew and cared for no longer existedthough a shell of his appearance was still to be seen out and about.
One evening our paths crossed in a restaurant where I had dinner with some coworkers. I greeted Mark and, ever polite,
he invited me to join his safely crowded table. Then, a weird thing happened: All his friends finished their drinks and
"had to go," not all at once, but very soon he and I were alone (in public) together for the first time in 1 year. I was very
nice, but I seized my knightly opportunity: "So what happened to you that week-
 
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end?" I asked, still smiling. To his credit, he did not feign ignorance about "happened" or ask, "weekend?," but did hem
and haw. I played a sort of 20 Questions and eventually extracted enough data to confirm the hypothesis I formulated
long before: Call it commitment-phobia, or fear of intimacy, paranoia, or a healthy cynicism about entrapment, but he
just did not want to be in a twosome. While he was away, his out-of-town friends asked about me, and his realization
that others saw us as a couple made him uncomfortable. When he returned, he postponed seeing me until he knew what
to say, allowing the days to drag on while he said nothing at all. Unavailable and remote, he believed he allowed our
relationship to pass away (Davis, 1973), although for me the breakup was obvious and abrupt, just what Davis described
as sudden death. After we talked, we parted on friendly terms, he was surprised, I think, that I did not argue with him or
assail him, although I explained how angry I was, and how stupid it was to keep avoiding each other. A whimper instead
of a bang, his confession nonetheless, gave me closure, and something more: the comfort of knowing that, because we
talked, it was not necessary to wonder how he might react if and when we next ran into each other. Even though I had to
drag it out of him, his explanation was a gift, and it made life easier for me afterward.

Strategies for Healing

A major challenge to recovering after a nonmarital breakup is the prior relationship's lack of definition or public
commitment. The survivor of such breakup may find that he or she is not taken seriously by friends, who point out that
"At least you weren't married!"as though the bereft person should be relieved, even happy, that it never got that far.
Orbuch (1988) put nonmarital breakups in the category of disenfranchised grief, a mourning process that is
psychologically real but not socially validated. Harvey (1996) explained: "As a society, we do not typically provide the
same types of social supports for people who experience dissolution [of a nonmarital relationship] . . . . In a certain sense,
loss is loss, and each loss deserves due consideration of its meaning in the life of the survivor and requires a time for
healing" (p. 40).
Dealing with Disenfranchisement
The hard lesson of this for the survivor of a nonmarital breakup is that he or she cannot expect to find ready
understanding, sympathy, or practical
 
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support during grief. When marriages break up, entire social and professional networks seem to be activated by the event:
friends console; former in-laws choose sides; and lawyers open files, list assets, and make adversarial plans for the
passive victims to follow. My lawyer, for example, did so much domestic and divorce work that he finally had his
business cards printed up on black stock: "I want prospective clients to know," he explained to me, "just how dark this
business is likely to get if they want me to proceed as their advocate in a divorce" (Marvin Pope, personal
communication).
The nonmarital breakee may indeed be relieved not to be caught up in the divorce industry or railroaded by a plot to
make an enemy of someone whom he or she once loved. Yet, the other extremefeeling clueless, abandoned by society,
embarrassed by failure or betrayal, perhaps guilty about breaking another's heartleaves one in a bleak, queasy limbo,
unsure what to do, aware that everyone says "you'll get over it," but painfully unaware of how to accomplish just that.
We must take matters into our own hands. Because we are disenfranchised, we must chart our own course. Ironically, the
pathways open to nonmarital breakees are well-worn, though they may not be the superhighways of divorce proceedings.
There have been so many nonmarital breakups in almost any culture studied that we should not find a lack of advice and
road maps for this experience. How, then, do we face nonmarital relationship loss, grieve through it, ultimately, to
reachand actively constructthe new sense of self at the end of the healing process?
Retrospection, Rememberingand Being Remembered
So much of the cognitive work of the breakup process is focused on obsession, attribution, and explanation of what
happened that it seems clear we must establish some sense of meaning in order to grieve and move on. I essentially
began this chapter by arguing for our need for meaning, and now come full circle. Meaning can be constructed, but such
fabrications cannot provide the closure and consolation of the "real thing." For example, I wish I had the truth from old
Geoff, my college boyfriend, rather than having to wonder and speculate for months after he ended all contact between
us. I figured it out and am 99% sure today that he met someone else and found it more difficult over time to level with
me. So I was able to garner meaning in that loss, but not with any expedience or dignity. In contrast, my confrontation
years later with Mark, the man who seemed to have been snatched by the Pod people one weekend before breaking off
our relationship, had a much more satisfying result emotion-
 
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ally, although the information I collected in that conversation was minimal. The difference was that I got meaningful
closure and conclusion. I felt he, however reluctantly, leveled with me; this enabled me to regard myself as someone
worth leveling with, and it genuinely eased my sadness over the lost relationship and my transition into a new social life.
Is the missing element dignity or honor? It certainly seems that, in interpersonal relations as well as international ones, a
fair policy is to allow your opponent the opportunity to save face after defeat. When one partner leaves the other, does
not the leaver owe the leavee an explanation, literally, an accounting? As suggested earlier, even bad news is better than
no news at all. Furthermore, if the leaver lacks finesse and cannot depart without a few shots or insults, the pain this
causes can eventually lead the rejected person to conclude, "Well, would I really want this person after all, knowing that?
" (Work on unrequited love and limerence suggests that there are a few souls out there who say they do still want the
abusive, uncaring ex-partner back, (Baumeister & Wotman, 1992; Tennov, 1979). However, I leave discussions of such
dynamics to the authors of works on disordered personalities and dysfunctional relationships. For my part here, I am
interested in the normal nonmarital breakup and what might be done to better understand it and cope.
Remember Me. A central part of accepting defeat with dignity is understanding whether and how the relationship is
viewed and remembered by one's former partner. To be forgotten would mean my own memories were false and my
value nill. At least acknowledge that it was once mutual or that I had some reason to be happy, even hopeful, when we
were together. Mourning rituals are cultural universals; all humans engage in some act or construction of memorializing
those who were dear to them. No nonmarital breakup warrants a notation in a county clerk's office, much less a
tombstone or official monument. Yet, we keep souvenirsor perhaps we dramatically destroy them, ripping up
photographs, tossing letters on the fire. (One reason to mourn the passing of the fireplace as a form of central heating,
frankly, is that now it is impossible to make a symbolic gesture by dropping love letters on a non-incendiary heating
vent). We buy books, write poems, play sad songs; some people send dead flowers or spread rumors of social disease as
a type of revenge against a former lover. All these acts, whether nostalgic or retaliatory, are types of mental and
emotional remembrance. What we seek in returnin some form we can hardly requestis to know we too are remembered,
whether as a great love or a bad time, as being real. The first step toward establishing one's new identity is learning about
one's old identity, as seen and remembered by those most important to us.
 
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Humor and Hope
As indicated earlier, Harvey, Orbuch, and I (1990) proposed that the goal of account making in the wake of loss is
ultimately to forge a new identity. This sense of self, figuratively baptized by the fire or blood of loss and pain, must be
firmly planted in the new reality of life after the loss, a different world from that which one originally inhabited or
wished for. We approach this identityitself, like breaking up, a process or work in progress rather than a finished
statewith a number of resources, despite our bleak beginnings. We take stock of our material resourcesthe income we
might still spend on rent if we must now find a new home or school if the partner who once promised to support us is
now gone. We also call on social support, friends who stick by us and survive the odd custodial dispute with our ex-
partner and strangersnew friends?with whom we feel safe disclosing some of the humiliation attendant on our failure or
rejection.
In the course of grieving, we also discover inner resources, including strength and endurance, even optimism and hope.
Cartoonist Matt Groening (1984), creator of The Simpsons and the Life in Hell cartoon series, offered his own view of the
stages of heartbreak: After the worst times (including "pain" and "pain pain pain"), eventually Binky the heartbroken
rabbit experiences "occasional perkiness'' and is, at last, "ready for further punishment" (p. 12). This readiness is not a
replay of the neediness that preceded the now broken relationship, but rather a sadder but wiser version, a recognition
that we need inclusion and desire intimacy, but are not infinitely self-sacrificing or telepathically gifted. We learn, in
short, that it takes work, we are not good at all types of work but can do many things, it is reasonable to seek a partner to
complement us in this noble work, and we will survive and even thrive. It may be a long journey to this point, but we
can get there.
Strategies for Getting Over Breakup Grief
I am missing you
far better than
I ever loved you.
Colgrove et al., 1991, p. 121
How do we get there? Pop psychology and self-help books, as well as regular magazine articles (often timed for
publication around Valentine's Day), offer ample relationship and breakup advice, some of it sound. As
 
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the short poem above hints, reflection during grief can sometimes lead us to realize that the loss and its attendant grief
are far more central to us emotionally than the relationship ever was. Some years ago, after being left by a man I dated
only a few months, I expressed both misery to my friends and bafflement about just why I should be so miserable. We
had not been that close, really, and I was surprised by how hard it hit me when he told me (yes, he told me, so that was
some improvement) that he had fallen in love with someone else I did not even know he had been seeing. My friend
Diane responded by asking me what I would most miss now that "Ralph" was out of my life. "The fun we had," I replied,
"and the intelligent conversations and laughs we shared, among other things." "Well," replied Diane (too wisely, but she
was right), ''those are things you still have. You haven't lost them! You're still fun, you offer everyone you know
intelligence and a sense of humor. Ralph had nothing to do with those qualities. So don't worry about losing something
he never gave you."
Coping with grief involves taking stock, making a sort of inventory of one's assets in the wake of loss or trauma. Recall
Harvey's (1996) earlier definition of loss as a depletion of resources; when you suffer loss, you may have to take some
time to sort out what you had to start with, what was sacrificed in the breakup, and what remains for you to cherish, use,
or depend on. In addition to these products, coping also requires that we respect the process of loss and grief. Neeld
(1990) argued that grief after loss is not a passive experience of suffering setbacks and disappointments in the wake of
tragedy, but rather a series of active choices the grieving person must confront and resolve, either in the direction of
healing or prolonged suffering. Like many impassioned scholars of loss, Neeld herself was inspired by a terrible tragedy:
Her husband died while jogging during a visit to a vacation cabin in Tennessee. With no warning about heart condition
and no expectation that their life together could be cut short, Neeld found herself living in and observing her own shock
and agony. In later analyzing her own experience and interviewing other survivors of all types of loss, she identified
seven choices mourners must face and the many forms these crises can take. In her prologue, Neeld concluded that "those
of us who have experienced traumatic loss do not have to be doomed" to pain, passivity, and hopelessness (p. 8). In this
spirit, then, here is some of the wisdom I culled from writers who sought to speak to those whose hearts were broken but
are determined to grieve actively, to learn from loss, and to get on with it.
Express Your Emotions. As Leick & Davidsen-Nielsen (1990) emphasize, expressing sorrow and rage is one of the four
central tasks of grief. Perhaps you can vent your emotions at your ex-partner, but chances are
 
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he or she will not be available to "receive" this message. In that case, a confidant will do, a sympathetic listener who lets
you think out loud without offering cliches or advice. But, when even a friend cannot be found, how do you express your
grief? Work by James Pennebaker (1990) indicates that an audience might not be required for effective expressing and
confiding. Instead of talking to someone, keeping a journal or writing out your thoughts and feelings can bring long-term
benefits, such as greater physical well-being and emotional recovery.
Figure Out What Happened. In Coming Apart, Kingma (1987) urged the survivor of a broken relationship to formulate
his or her storywhat we would call the accountand write it down. This provides some emotional release as well as a
record, perhaps an ongoing diary, of one's memories and progress in coping. Do the cognitive work of assembling the
souvenirs and reviewing the memories, as well as accepting the reasons. Identify what you need for closure and figure
out how to get it on your own if necessary.
Realize, Don't Idealize. In How to Fall Out of Love (1978), Phillips and Judd recommended several strategies to lessen
the pain of a failed or impossible love. One strategy is silent ridicule, in which the client mentally pictures some real flaw
in the former lover and then mentally exaggerates it in a humorous way. For example, I was once dumped by a man who
had a fastidious streak; for example, he would overreact with dismay to a food stain on his tie, to the point of ruining the
evening by obsessing about how to get it cleaned. In applying Phillips' advice to my own post-breakup disappointment, I
readily conjured up an image of neatly attired "Ralph" with potato salad dumped on his head. It was a bit vengeful, but
mainly I knew his reaction to such a silly experience would be self-imposed misery rather than annoyance. (Those of us
who have survived food spills know the difference between real tragedy and mere embarrassed annoyance). By vividly
imagining Ralph's neurotic neatnik fetish, I was able to chip away at my ideal image of him and so, miss him a bit less.
Once I got him back down to human proportions in my mind, I was able to deal with realistic sadness rather than the
death of a dream. The real is more mundane than the ideal and much easier to get over.
Prepare to Feel Better. In his work with the recently separated, Weiss found that many survivors of breakup are
surprised to feel euphoric, even a little embarrassed that they are not prostrate with grief or guilt. Yet, relief and even joy
can make sense, especially if you are the leaver or if you have been waiting for the other shoe to drop for some time. This
positive feeling
 
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may overtake you rather abruptly. In The Heartbreak Handbook, Frankel and Tien (1993) told the story of a woman who
suddenly snapped out of her post breakup malaise one day in the middle of an aerobics class workout: "I was in full
swing, . . . when it suddenly popped into my head: `I'm fine! I'm really doing okay. I have things to do; I can enjoy
myselfI don't want to stay mired in the past. I want to go on with my life.' It was weird; it was kind of like an epiphany or
something . . ." (p. 187). A common theme in respondents' reports is that they feel like laughing or experience the
epiphany while talking and joking with friends. Humor breaks the bonds of misery; it is incompatible with self-imposed
mourning. By considering the possibility of healing and looking for what is funnyor at least ironicin your experience, you
may find you are better able to process the feelings and lessons of grief.
Expect to Heal. How is it possible to recover after going through a period of intense pain and despair? A break is an
injury, and most injuries heal. Spontaneous-healing expert Weil (1997) advised, as a key step in self-promotion of
health, make a list of all past illnesses and injuries from which you healed. The point of the listing is to recognize that
you normally heal after you are hurtyour mind and body work together to restore you to health. This is true even when
some changes have to be made, in order to get well. In the wake of loss and pain, we can change, adapt, and grow. To do
this, it helps to remember that we have done so many times before.
Talk to Others. Tell those close to you about your situation, and be honest with them about what they can and cannot
expect from you in days and weeks to come. If you do not know what they can expect, tell them that! Seek out those who
have been there, not only to pour out your own tale to sympathetic ears, but also to listen to theirs and look for common
themes. Resist the temptation to shut yourself away from others. This is one of those awful periods when you will not be
charming or socially skilled but you will need and will appreciate the company of others. In Love Stinks, Overbeck
(1990) warned that different people react differentlyand not always constructivelyto your loss. Some say, "I told you so,"
"I never liked her," or "Too bad, he seemed like a great guy,'' when it should seem obvious that these are not consoling
responses, and may not even be true. Anticipate diversity, make bets with yourself about how others might react, and set
yourself the reasonable goal of communicating with others and asking reasonably for what you need. Do not expect
others to read your mind or just know how you feel, even those who have been through breakups themselves. Help those
closest to you to stay that waygive them hints, even instructions, and encourage new bonds (not rebounds) with a few
people you have not really connected with until now.
 
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Get Some Perspective. With loss comes change, and life is so different it may as well be seen as a new start. Prepare
yourself as you would for a major wilderness hiking excursion or a new business venture. Learn all you can about this
new terrain, become an expert on where you have been and where you might go next. Education can be combined with
entertainment. Ask friends to recommend perfect movies to rent or their favorite music to weep to and broaden your
cultural horizons with these images and sounds. For example, Sumrall (1994) edited a collection of stories and poems by
women, Breaking Up is Hard to Do, inspired by her own experience grieving over a breakup. Read poetry, especially if
you never tried it before. Years ago, when grieving over yet another breakup, I traveled to visit an old girlfriend who was
stationed in the air force in Ohio. We sat in the officer's club as she first listened to my latest tale of woe and then
announced, "Ann, I think you are finally ready for country music." Pushing back her chair, she rose and strode over to
the juke box in the bar, ceremoniously punching in several tunes selected to be depressing, plaintive, self-pitying, and
simply wonderful to hear. To this day, I cannot imagine my life without Willie Nelson's voice in it occasionally, even on
very happy days. The art and ideas you are ready for only after a breakup are gifts you have earned by your suffering.
They can be lifelong sources of comfort and joy.
Ready for Further Punishment, or Maybe Reward. And so, we take our lessons to heart. We take this heart, this new
heart and self, full of hope, humor, and irony, and we face the worlda new world with uncharted possibilities and
dangers. Perhaps we try once again, explore a new love, although it will not be the same. Then again, the pain reminds us
we do not want it to be exactly the same. We have some memories and fantasies to cherish, some sense of hard-won
meaning, the moral of the story. Together these help to forge a sense of promise. Thus, silly to risk it, but crazy not to,
we try again, and we take heart.

Acknowledgments
I gratefully acknowledge the help of the following individuals, without whose assistance, inspiration, and information, I
could not have produced a work of value on the subject of coping with the loss of nonmarital breakups: Cynthia
Picklesimer of UNC-Asheville, for data collection; Laura Jenkins, of Western Carolina University, for content analysis;
the staff of Accent on Books, Asheville, NC, for books and information; John
 
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Harvey, Terri Orbuch, and Beverley Fehr, for thoughts and collaboration on the subject of breakups; and, John Quigley,
my partner, for listening to all my stories, and for helping me to see breakup experience as part of my expertiseand my
past.

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Sprecher, S. (1994). Two sides to the breakup of dating relationships. Personal Relationships, 1, 199-222.
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10
To Love or Be Loved in Vain: The Trials and Tribulations of Unrequited Love
Ellen Bratslavsky
Roy F. Baumeister
Kristin L. Sommer
Case Western Reserve University
Love is regarded as one of the most exciting and pleasant experiences in life. Love is thought to fill one's life with
purpose and meaning, and American society embraced love as one of its core values. A study of love and relationships
expanded greatly in the last decade. Despite some difficulty in studying these phenomena, researchers are emphasizing
the importance of understanding and studying love and relationships. However, relationships that fail to form is a
category that can easily get lost. Most of the literature on love focuses on the individual in love and on cognitions,
emotions, and behaviors that go along with love. This emphasis misses the interpersonal context of love that comes into
focus in times when only one person is in love, as in unrequited love. Thus, studying unrequited love means overcoming
a limitation of taking only the individual approach to love.
Ideally, passionate or romantic love progresses something like this: Two people meet and eventually develop a strong
attraction to one another. They experience a sudden rush of positive emotion and sexual desire in
 
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each other's presence, and their overwhelming need for the relationship causes them to spend increasingly more time
together while neglecting other people and concerns. The levels of emotional intimacy and commitment steadily escalate
and finally culminate in a mutual state of ecstasy. To fall in love is to be fulfilled and to discover a degree of happiness
that transcends ordinary experiences.
Unfortunately, love does not always progress this smoothly. Often, intense romantic love is experienced by only one
person, and the target of that person's affections is left in the uncomfortable position of having to reject that love.
Passionate love felt by one person toward another person who does not desire romantic involvement with the would-be
lover is referred to as unrequited love. When one's love is not returned, when emotions, feelings, and longings are not
mutual, the consequences for the would-be lover may be devastating. Not only does unrequited love fail to bring long-
awaited happiness, but it can elicit pain and suffering.
Thus, to love in vain diminishes the joy and ecstasy normally associated with passionate love. Yet, what is it like to be
loved in vain? There are two dark sides of unrequited love, but only one is made familiar by our culture. Movies, books,
and songs explore the tragedy of unrequited love from the eyes of the would-be lover, yet the feelings and perspectives
of the rejector remain largely ignored. Not only is the depiction of the rejector's experience incomplete, but it is often
inaccurate. The rejector is often portrayed as a cold-hearted, unempathic individual who is either indifferent to the other's
pain and suffering or who exploits the would-be lover for personal gain. Yet, this is a clear distortion of the prototypical
unrequited love experience for the rejector. The findings presented in this chapter show how unrequited love usually ends
with immense dissatisfaction and distress for both parties.
In our analysis, then, we give attention to the experiences of both would-be lovers and rejectors. Because the rejector's
perceptions and emotions remain somewhat of a mystery in our culture, we view this side of unrequited love as
particularly deserving of attention. Throughout our discussion, we emphasize the experiences of the rejector and the
disparity between these experiences and stereotypes or misconceptions of the rejector's role.
The data on which the following conclusions are based are reported in detail in two recent publications by Baumeister
and Wotman (1992) and Baumeister, Wotman, and Stillwell (1993). In these studies, participants were mostly young,
unmarried adults who typically recently had unrequited-love experiences, both as would-be lovers and as rejectors.
Participants were asked to write two storiesone about an important experience in which they loved someone who did not
return their feelings and one
 
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about an experience in which someone loved them, but whose feelings they did not reciprocate. Because each participant
related two accounts, one experience as a would-be lover and one as a rejector, the comparisons reflected meaningful
differences between situational roles rather than between types of people. Thus, the experiences related by these
participants may be assumed to represent those of most people who find themselves either in the position of loving
another who does not love them back or of being the recipient of another's unwanted love.
We begin our chapter with a prototypical unrequited love story that highlights the experiences of both the would-be lover
and the rejector. We follow with a discussion of the situations that give rise to unrequited love and provide a theoretical
framework for understanding the experiences associated with each role. Then, we describe the primary emotional
outcomes of the would-be lover and rejector, both during and following the unrequited-love experience. We conclude
with a summary of what individuals claimed to learn from their unrequited-love experiences.

An Unrequited Love Scenario

Mary and Paul were best friends in college. They carried the same major and therefore spent a lot of time
studying as well as socializing together. After some time passed, Paul noticed that his feelings for Mary were
changing. He started to become physically attracted to her and developed deep feelings for her. Initially, Paul
remained silent, not sure of how to proceed, yet his desire for her became overwhelming and after struggling with
his emotions for some time, Paul eventually confessed his love to Mary. Mary was surprised and flattered by
Paul's love, but knew that she would never be able to reciprocate his feelings. Still, Mary cared about Paul and
was concerned about hurting him. She tried to gently discourage Paul. She told him that she thought very highly
of him and cherished their time together, but she wanted to remain "just friends."
Obviously, Paul was disappointed, but not willing to give up. Paul was convinced that he and Mary had
 something special and if he just persisted, she would come to realize her feelings for him. Paul continued to
pursue Mary, expressing his longing for her and expressing his affection through letters and gifts. Mary became
very confused; she felt guilty for hurting Paul, but simultaneously, felt frustrated by his incessant and futile
pursuit of her. She was no longer flattered by his love, but instead, became desperate to end the situation. Mary
began to withdraw physically and emotionally, figuring Paul would get the message and leave her alone.
Mary's plan backfired. Her ostracism of Paul made him even more diligent in his efforts to secure her love.
Finally, at the end of her rope, Mary confronted Paul and clearly and explicitly told him that she did not love him
and she never wanted to see him again. Paul felt Mary was breaking his heart, but finally
 
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desisted in his attempts to secure her love. Looking back, Paul confessed that he was devastated by Mary's
rejection, but claimed that he would always have a soft spot in his heart for her. In contrast, Mary could not
understand how she ever could have been friends with a person who could not accept her feelings. Mary felt
guilty for hurting Paul, but also resented him for destroying their friendship. In short, she wished desperately that
the whole incident never happened.
This scenario portrays a typical experience of unrequited love by would-be lovers and rejectors. It also vividly
demonstrates the importance of reciprocity in the joy of love. Because unrequited love involves both a person who is in
love and a person who is receiving love, one examines the hypothesis that it is the combination of loving and being loved
that is necessary for happiness. Fromm (1956) emphasized the giving of love and proposed that the art of loving was the
essential requirement for happiness, satisfaction, and fulfillment. In contrast, Rogers (1959) argued that it is the receiving
of unconditional positive regard and love that carries the most weight. Unrequited love experiences such as those of Paul
and Mary, however, strongly support a third alternative. To love or to be loved is necessary, but not sufficient for
happiness. Rather, happiness seems to require mutual, reciprocated love.

Why and When Does Unrequited Love Occur?

Why exactly does unrequited love occur? One popular theory of relationship formation is equity theory (e.g., Walster,
Berscheid, & Walster, 1976), which holds that people tend to match up with others similar to themselves. In order to
explain why unrequited love occurs, however, it is important to understand that people initially are not attracted to those
who are similar to themselves. Instead, people tend to prefer the most desirable partners (Walster, Aronson, Abrahams, &
Rottman, 1966). Even though people end up marrying someone similar to themselves, they tend to initially fall in love
with the best person they can find. One person may therefore become attracted to someone more desirable, but that
someone is unlikely to reciprocate the romantic interestor fall for a person less alluring. Baumeister and Wotman (1992)
termed this falling upward, which refers generally to the act of falling in love with someone more attractive than the self.
Another source of unrequited love is platonic friendships. Friends who spend a lot of time together usually develop
strong feelings of closeness and intimacy. Intimacy has been called the common core of all love relationships (Sternberg,
1986; Sternberg & Grajek, 1984). In this way,
 
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platonic friendships provide a fertile soil for unrequited love. One person's feelings may blossom, whereas the other's
remain stagnant. In the previous scenario, a close friendship gave rise to unrequited love. Paul's feelings grew more
intense over time, whereas Mary's feelings of friendship remained constant. Despite Paul's urgent wish to increase Mary's
level of involvement in the relationship, Mary was simply incapable of seeing Paul in a more romantic light.
A third instance in which one witnesses unrequited love is in the early stages of a romantic relationship. Two people may
form a mutual attraction and decide that they want to get to know each other better. They begin dating, and after a few
interactions, one person's feelings diminish, whereas the other's flourish. It is under these circumstances that unrequited
love should have the greatest impact on the emotions of both would-be lovers and rejectors. This is because early on,
there exists the potential for the formation of a reciprocal, loving relationship. At the point at which one person begins to
withdraw, the would-be lover already received some reinforcement and has good reason to believe that the partner will
change his or her mind and decide to continue the romance. If the rejector fails to demonstrate this longed for change of
heart, the final rejection is all the more painful to the would-be lover. To be rejected after allowing someone to get to
know you poses a major threat to your self-esteem. It is as if the rejector is saying, "I liked you at first, but now that I
know you better, I'm no longer interested."
This situation is distressing for the rejector, as well. The rejector finds it extremely difficult to try to break off a
relationship that he or she willingly participated in creating. This includes trying to explain to the would-be loverwithout
inducing pain or miserywhy exactly one's feelings took a turn for the worse. Rejectors may become frustrated and
confused during this process because, often, they have little insight into their own reasons for losing interest. Baumeister
and Wotman (1992) found that rejectors frequently reported feelings of respect, admiration, and liking for their admirers,
but they failed to experience the requisite sexual attraction or desire. Sometimes, rejectors wanted to love their admirers
and reported that the would-be lover would make someone an excellent partner. In the end, rejectors were left boggled by
their own inexplicable lack of desire and felt extremely guilty for failing to return the other's affections.
We return to the experiences of would-be lovers and rejectors later in this chapter. Now, we explore the emotional
outcomes available to each role and use this as a framework for understanding how would-be lovers and rejectors form
different assessments of the situation and how these appraisals, in turn, determine the actions that they take.
 
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Interdependence Theory of Unrequited Love

When trying to understand the behaviors of would-be lovers and rejectors, it is necessary to consider the options
available to each. The situation is one paradigm of interdependence, in that each person's outcomes depend on what both
people do (Kelley & Thibaut, 1978). Considering the structure of interdependence helps clarify the different situations
and contingencies that confront the two roles.
Suppose you love someone who is reluctant or unable to return your love. You have two options available to you. First,
you may actively try to win your rejector's heart. If you pursue your rejector despite his or her reluctance, you may
eventually convince your rejector that you are worthy of his or her love and thus, succeed in securing the bond that you
so desperately desire. Of course, your rejector may also continue to reject you and then you must deal with the ensuing
feelings of rejection and despair. Your second option is thus to give up passively, which leaves no chance for happiness.
An objective appraisal of the situation therefore, pushes you toward the active option. By persisting, you have at least one
chance to win your rejector's love.
Suppose now that you are the object of another's unwanted affections. You also have two options available to you. The
first, active option is to reject the other's love. This naturally brings suffering to your would-be lover, and actively
inflicting suffering on another individual (especially one who thinks so highly of you) leads you to feel morally repugnant
and guilty. Your second, passive option, then, is to play along with the would-be lover and hope that you can muster up
some deep feelings for him or her. This passive option may be less painful in the short run because it prevents you from
having to communicate those dreaded words of rejection. However, in the event that you cannot form an attraction to
your partner, it only postpones the inevitable heartbreak. Because your chances of falling in love are low, if nonexistent,
your most attractive option is the active onethat is, to reject your partner.
Thus, this interdependence analysis reveals that the would-be lover's situation is, seemingly ironically, more appealing
than the rejector's. The would-be lover's potential outcomes span the spectrum from elation to despair. In contrast, the
rejector's potential outcomes are nearly all bad. The would-be lover thus, sees the situation as a high-risk gamble, with at
least a chance for happiness, whereas the rejector sees a no-win situation with almost nothing to gain. Hence, even
though the would-be lover may suffer more acutely (on average) during the worst moments, would-be
 
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lovers in general are more interested in the experience, pursue it more eagerly, and regret it less afterward than the
rejector.

Prolonging the Agony Through a Conspiracy of Silence

Baumeister and Wotman (1992) found that both would-be lovers and rejectors often cooperated in avoiding the painful
rejection through a conspiracy of silence. The rejector did not want to speak the message, and the would-be lover did not
want to hear it. In the previous example, Paul dismissed Mary's initial rejection, and indeed, Mary demonstrated a
reluctance to communicate directly and clearly her lack of interest in a romantic relationship. To accept another's
rejection is to admit defeat and accept one's inferiority, and thus it is easy to see why someone such as Paul would
downplay the significance of another's refusal. Yet, it is also difficult to refuse another's love bluntly. First, this behavior
goes against a fundamental and pervasive motivation to form and sustain interpersonal attachments (Baumeister & Leary,
1995). Second, as noted earlier, love is highly valued in our society and to reject another's offering of love is to thwart
something highly important to an individual. Thus even though the rejector wants to communicate the message of
rejection clearly to the would-be lover, he or she tends not to do it very effectively. Indeed, to make the rejection more
culturally acceptable, the rejector often attempts to soften it with warm words or compliments. Also, the rejector often
bases the rejection on temporary and vague reasons, which give the would-be lover more hope for reciprocation.
The unrequited love experience is thus perpetuated by a conspiracy of silence. The would-be lover is motivated to avoid
the painful message and therefore, is unlikely to perceive the refusal as a true rejection. Because the message of rejection
is rarely made explicit by the rejector, the would-be lover continues to pursue the object of his or her love. This, in turn,
leads the rejector to become more frustrated and annoyed with the situation.

Emotional Outcomes of Unrequited Love

Interdependence theory predicts that one's emotional outcomes of the unrequited love experience depends on what the
prospective partner does. Analysis of the autobiographical accounts of would-be lovers and rejectors
 
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revealed two primary (albeit different) emotions that were affected by the other's actions. For the would-be lover, this
emotion was self-esteem or global feelings about the self. For the rejector, it was guilt. Unrequited love experiences
usually led to a drop in self-esteem for the would-be lover and an increase in guilt for the rejector. We consider each of
these in turn.
Self-Esteem
The need to protect and enhance one's self-esteem is regarded as one of the most basic and powerful human motivations
(Baumeister, 1997; Greenberg, Pyszczynski, & Solomon, 1986). Self-esteem is a central concern for the would-be lover.
As mentioned earlier in this chapter, people tend to initially fall in love with those who are more desirable than
themselves. Because individuals' own views of their attractiveness are often exaggerated (Taylor & Brown, 1988),
would-be lovers often consider themselves equal in attractiveness to the objects of their love. The rejectors also see
themselves in a positive and distorted fashion, but see their admirers accurately. People are generally not attracted to less
desirable others and hence, are unmotivated to form a romantic relationship with them.
As a would-be lover, you may begin to devalue yourself when you find you are being rejected by someone ostensibly
equal in attractiveness. Rejection carries the implicit negative message of unequal attractiveness and inferiority. If the
desired person does not love you, you must not be worth loving. This drop in self-esteem should be most significant
when you feel your rejector knows you well. On the one hand, being rejected by an acquaintance is attributed to the fact
that he or she simply does not know you well enough. On the other hand, being rejected by a close other carries a
powerful humiliating message (Aronson & Linder, 1965). The later in a relationship the rejection comes, the greater the
negative impact on your self-esteem.
Indeed, loss of self-esteem was far more commonly mentioned in the would-be lovers' accounts than in the rejectors'
accounts. Would-be lovers were more likely to mention feeling silly, foolish, stupid, and embarrassed. For would-be
lovers, recovery from the unrequited love experience often involved trying to repair the damage done to their self-
esteem. Various strategies were used. First, would-be lovers tried to reaffirm their esteem directly. Nearly one half of
would-be lovers mentioned made references to their positive traits or attractiveness to others, and they often noted that
they deserved someone better than their rejector. In a related vein, would-be lovers sometimes derogated or devalued the
object of their love.
 
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This strategy of demeaning the rejector was relatively infrequent, however, because derogating the rejector held negative
implications for the self. (After all, if you have fallen for a person you consider repulsive and despicable, then
presumably you are equally, if not more, repulsive and despicable) A popular option among would-be lovers was to
instead derogate their rival or person who stole their beloved's heart. As one jilted woman wrote of her rejector and his
new girlfriend, ''Every time I see her or both of them together I keep asking myself what he sees in her . . . .the strangest
thing is, I'm not even jealous of her because I know that I am much better than she is" (Baumeister & Wotman, 1992, p.
94). A final effective strategy for boosting self-esteem was to find someone desirable and attractive who would
reciprocate the would-be lover's affections. One rejected lover noted in her story, "I have a boyfriend whom I've been
seeing for one year and he treats me so much better than Peter ever did, and he adores me to death" (p. 95).
Ideally, the best way for the would-be lover to regain self-esteem is to see the rejector come back and profess his or her
love. Most often, though, rejectors do not come back wanting forgiveness and love. Would-be lovers may be willing to
sacrifice some esteem in the beginning stages of unrequited love. Persisting in the face of rejection is humiliating, but it
may pay off in the end. The threat to self-esteem, however, becomes compounded by each additional rejection.
Eventually, the would-be lovers must give up and try to salvage any self-esteem they have left. Thus, even though the
would-be lovers' self-esteem is not initially an important aspect of their experience, it gradually becomes more important.
The opposite pattern is found among rejectors. The rejector may experience a temporary boost to self-esteem, but this
experience is often short-lived. Simply knowing that someone has deemed you worthy enough to fall in love with you is
bound to make you feel good. It is especially flattering when you know that you have done nothing to encourage that
love, but rather that someone loves you just because he or she finds you so extremely desirable. The boost to self-esteem
quickly wears off, however, as the rejector becomes annoyed and frustrated by the would-be lover's futile persistence or
even just because the admiration of an undesirable partner is regarded as worthless.
Thus, would-be lovers experienced a drop in self-esteem as the interpersonal rejection became more frequent and the
prospects for forming the desired relationship grew increasingly bleak. To replenish their self-worth, would-be lovers
invoked a variety of tactics, including derogating the rival lover and emphasizing the desirability of their new lovers.
These tactics allowed would-be lovers to reaffirm their own attractiveness and value to others.
 
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Guilt and Justification
Whereas the loss of self-esteem was a primary emotional experience of the would-be lovers, a strong sense of guilt was a
central problem for the rejectors. Guilt is an interpersonal emotion that people experience on learning that they inflicted
suffering on a person for whom they have affection or feelings of concern (Baumeister, Stillwell, & Heatherton, 1994;
Tangney, 1995). The guilt experienced by the rejectors likely stems from two sources: First, most rejectors, at some
point, found themselves on the other side of unrequited love and thus, empathize with the would-be lover's distress
(Baumeister & Wotman, 1992). Second, rejecting another's love is difficult and runs contrary to the seemingly innate
human desire for belongingness (Baumeister & Leary, 1995). Empathy and anxiety over loss of attachments are theorized
to be the two main origins of guilt (Baumeister et al., 1994) and both are evident in unrequited love.
The intensity of guilt varies decisively with the closeness of the relationship (Baumeister, Reis, & Delespaul, 1995). As
the rejector, you therefore suffer the most guilt, remorse, and regret after inflicting distress on another with whom you
already formed some attachment. As was the case with Paul and Mary, many unrequited love experiences typically
evolve from platonic friendships or even dating relationshipscontexts in which some degree of intimacy has already been
established. If you have an emotional investment in your would-be lover's suffering and are further concerned about
maintaining a connection with him or her, your level of guilt is quite high.
Although one might expect the would-be lover to feel guilty for bringing guilt and frustration to the rejector, references
to guilt feelings were far more common in the rejectors' accounts than in those of the would-be lovers. Despite their
involuntary involvement, rejectors often felt a sense of obligation toward the would-be lover. People tend to feel a great
deal of guilt over harm that was caused unintentionally (McGraw, 1987). Thus, although rejectors were unwillingly
brought to the situation and did nothing to create the other's distress, they ended up experiencing much more guilt than
the would-be lovers who were primarily responsible for the situation.
There are two explanations for the absence of guilty feelings in the would-be lovers' accounts. First, would-be lovers are
usually lost in their own feelings of love and hope, and they are largely oblivious to the distress they are causing the
rejectors. Would-be lovers focus on their own feelings, whereas rejectors primarily attend to the emotions of their would-
be lovers. Second, because love is a powerful and pervasive value in our society, many things done in the name of love
are considered to be justified
 
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(Baumeister, 1991). The would-be lover's blameworthiness for relentlessly pursuing the rejector despite his or her
objections becomes mitigated by the would-be lover's honorable intentions. The would-be lover is inflicting something
negative (e.g., frustration and annoyance), but it is in the service of something highly desirable and good (i.e., mutual
love and happiness). The rejector, conversely, cannot use love to justify the infliction of heartbreak on the would-be
lover. From the rejector's perspective, the primary positive outcome is that of selfish escape. The rejector must therefore
find other ways of justifying the rejection in order to escape the guilt.
Indeed, rejectors' intense feelings of guilt made justification more central to their experiences than to the would-be lovers'
experiences. Rejectors displayed a number of justification strategies. As noted earlier, the magnitude of guilt increases
with the strength of the interpersonal bond. One way that rejectors could escape their guilt, then, was to derogate the
would-be lover and thereby lower the perceived importance of the attachment. The less they cared about the victims of
their rejection, the easier it was to avoid feeling guilty. One rejector described her admirer in these terms: "This is rude,
but Albert is a total turnoff-loser, not extremely well liked outside his circle, not exactly good looking either, personality
not wonderful . . ." (Baumeister & Wotman, 1992, p. 85).
A second strategy for escaping guilt was to absolve the self of responsibility for the would-be lover's turmoil. Indeed,
rejectors often did nothing to encourage their admirers and reminded themselves of this fact when trying to alleviate their
guilt. In fact, rejectors who thought highly of their admirers sometimes tried to fall in love with them. Rejectors reported
wanting to reciprocate the love and became confused and frustrated by their inability to do so. Their lack of ability to
control their feelings provided a third source of justification for the rejection. Rejectors reported a need to be true to
themselves: This need is a common source of justification (Baumeister, 1991; Bellah, Madsen, Sullivan, Swidler, &
Tipton, 1985; Vaughan, 1986).
Some rejectors justified their actions on the basis of what was best for the would-be lovers. This method reaffirms the
rejector's caring and concern for the admirer, while allowing him or her to escape the aversive situation. Finally, some
rejectors went so far as to present themselves as victims. They claimed that the would-be lovers' improper behaviors left
them no choice but to sternly reject their admirers. Improper behaviors by the would-be lovers included boasting to
others about their ostensible relationship with the rejector or relentlessly calling or coming to the rejector's house. The
victim role may be especially important in unrequited love because rejectors can make themselves feel better by
presenting themselves as deserving of sympathy rather than criticism.
 
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The would-be lovers' improper behaviors were indicated in many rejectors' accounts, whereas none of the would-be
lovers' accounts presented their own behaviors in a negative light. Instead, the would-be lovers' accounts portrayed their
actions to be proper and acceptable. People's tendencies to see their own behavior in a positive light and others' behavior
in a negative light explains an obvious contradiction among the stories (Baumeister, Stillwell, & Wotman, 1990; Taylor,
1989; Taylor & Brown, 1988). The rejectors' feelings of frustration and annoyance were often exaggerated by some
questionable actions by the would-be lovers. Rejectors reported feeling pushed and bothered by the would-be lovers'
hypocrisy, indecent actions, lack of consideration, and sometimes even threats to commit suicide.
Although improper acts by the would-be lovers were mentioned more often by the rejectors, it should be noted that the
rejectors also participated in some objectionable actions. As noted earlier, would-be lovers and rejectors cooperated in a
conspiracy of silence. Rejectors often opted to deal with the unpleasant situation by avoiding contact with the would-be
lovers. This included fabricating other commitments when propositioned for a date and asking roommates to lie about the
rejector's absence when the would-be lovers telephoned. These tactics offered temporary solutions and thus were only
partially effective. Hiding or masking the inevitable rejection only postponed the hurt and despair for the would-be lover
and prolonged the guilt and frustration for the rejector.
There is one final difference between the two roles that is relevant to the experience of guilt and therefore deserves
mention. Unlike would-be lovers, rejectors suffered from a sense of scriptlessness. We noted earlier that modern
American culture provides would-be lovers with clear and detailed scripts to follow. Movies, books, and songs often
portray the would-be lover's persistence as paying off when the rejector comes to his or her senses and recognizes the
would-be lover for the wonderful person he or she is. The presence of this script for the would-be lovers makes it easy to
understand why an unrequited lover persists in the face of rejection. The rejectors, on the other hand, find themselves
without an adequate script. There are very few literary or media sources where the perspectives and behaviors of the
rejectors are found. The absence of firm standards or guidelines for what constitutes appropriate and inappropriate
reactions to the rejection side of unrequited love leaves rejectors in a heightened state of frustration, uncertainty, and
guilt. Due to the ambiguity about what exactly is "the right thing to do," rejectors fear doing the wrong thing. Also,
because the would-be lovers are caught up in their own feelings and needs, they may be insensitive to rejector's
scriptlessness and not realize what the rejector is going through.
 
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Collectively, these findings challenge the myth of the cold-hearted rejector as someone who maliciously thwarts another's
love and dispassionately induces mental anguish and heartbreak in the would-be lover. Instead, the evidence paints a
much different, more sympathetic picture of the rejector. The rejector is often troubled by guilt for having inflicted harm
on the would-be lover, but is simultaneously left with few avenues for escaping such guilt. Whereas the would-be lover
easily justifies any perceptibly inappropriate actions by claiming an innocent and understandable need for love and
companionship, the rejector finds it difficult to rationalize his or her rejection of the admirer and lack of interest in the
relationship. The additional problem of scriptlessness among rejectors results in a perpetual state of confusion and
uncertainty; it leaves open the possibility that any actions taken by the rejector may be reflected as having been wrong or
inappropriate.

Looking Back
We now turn to the perspectives and conclusions of would-be lovers and their rejectors after some time has passed. How
do they label or define their unrequited love experiences?
The Irony of Retrospect
When examining the patterns of would-be lovers' and rejectors' emotions during and following the unrequited love
experience, we witness what is called the irony of retrospect (Baumeister & Wotman, 1992). The would-be lover overall
has a more humiliating and embarrassing experience, yet remembers it in much more pleasant colors. The rejector starts
out having a pleasant, flattering experience and ends up wishing it was all a bad dream.
The stories of would-be lovers revealed that these individuals looked back on the whole incident with quite fond
memories, despite their initial disappointment, pain, and heartbreak. Many of the would-be lovers' memories were
bittersweet and warm. In retrospect, would-be lovers experienced significantly more positive affect than their rejectors.
Almost none of the would-be lovers' accounts mentioned wishing that the whole thing never happened.
Most rejectors, conversely, had very negative recollections and feelings about the entire episode. Some rejectors searched
for any positive aspects of the experience, and most failed to find anything remotely good. Rejectors were frustrated and
annoyed by the unsolicited attention and were
 
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often left riddled with guilt after being forced to inflict emotional suffering on their admirers. Even though some rejectors
and would-be lovers managed to remain friends, the rejectors' accounts repeatedly indicated the aversiveness of their
experiences.
The research evidence on emotional experiences in unrequited love thus suggests an unexpected conclusion. Contrary to
the popular stereotype, the heartbreaker experiences a great deal of emotional distress. Would-be lovers were distressed,
disappointed, and ashamed of their behaviors, but they also experienced the rush of excitement and hope that normally
comes with falling in love. Rejectors, conversely, ended up with a great amount of negative affect. It is interesting to note
the imbalance in the degree to which would-be lovers and rejectors attended to the other's emotional outcomes.
Comparison of the accounts revealed that rejectors were sensitive to the would-be lovers' suffering and distress, whereas
would-be lovers had almost no awareness of the rejectors' emotional distress. This is consistent with the earlier finding
that rejectors focused on alleviating their guilt, whereas would-be lovers focused on regulating their own self-esteem.
Interdependence theory once again is adopted as a framework for understanding the emotional outcomes of each role
long after the unrequited love episode ended. Looking back, the would-be lover realizes both positive and negative
outcomes as a result of knowing and interacting with the rejector, whereas the rejector perceives almost nothing positive
from having been pursued by the would-be lover. The would-be lover ends up with something to appreciate, something
to remember and learn from, despite his or her unsuccessful efforts to win the rejector's heart. In contrast, the rejector has
a difficult time appreciating any aspects of his or her experience. The rejector remembers a situation he or she never
wanted and did nothing to create. In fact, in many cases, the rejector loses a special friendship.
Interpretations of the Episode.
In hindsight, would-be lovers and rejectors perceived the pattern of events surrounding the unrequited love experience
differently. Perusal of the autobiographical narratives (Baumeister & Wotman, 1992) revealed stark differences in the
degree to which the rejection was perceived as clear and unambiguous. Whereas would-be lovers recalled receiving
vague and confusing messages by the rejectors, the rejectors often argued that they clearly communicated their disinterest
in the romantic relationship. Would-be lovers often felt that their rejectors initially reciprocated their love and led them
on, whereas the rejectors almost never mentioned
 
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leading their admirers on. These findings were confirmed in a follow-up study, in which people were asked to make their
own ratings of their experiences (Baumeister et al., 1993). When asked whether the rejector led them on, almost all of
would-be lovers responded in the affirmative. The rejectors, however, denied that they ever encouraged the would-be
lovers or led them on.
What accounts for these divergent perspectives? First, recall that would-be lovers wanted to protect their self-esteem and
rejectors wanted to maintain a sense of morality. Looking back, the would-be lover loses pride and feels somewhat
foolish for behaving in such a desperate fashion, whereas the rejector feels frustrated and guilty for hurting another's
feelings. When trying to explain why they persisted and made fools of themselves, the would-be lovers point to the
encouragement they received and hence, their ensuing optimism about the desired relationship. When trying to
rationalize the pain they caused, rejectors referred to their obvious words of discouragement and thus their blamelessness.
Both would-be lovers and rejectors were motivated to escape any residual, negative emotions from the unrequited love
experience; forming biased memories for the clarity of the initial rejection may have helped them to do this.
Second, there is good reason to believe that the rejectors' messages of disinterest were in fact mixed and inconsistent. As
previously noted, some rejectors initially reciprocated the attraction and then later lost interest in the relationship. The
would-be lovers, convinced of the mutuality of their partners' affections, attributed this disinterest to transient or
temporary reasons. However, even rejectors who were not romantically attracted to their admirers enjoyed the attention
and flattery. As one rejector wrote of this problem in her account, "I'm sure the fact that I was flattered but not attracted
gave him a mixed message" (Baumeister & Wotman, 1992, p. 147). Also, lack of a script among rejectors left them
uncertain about the proper way to behave, and this uncertainty may have led to inconsistencies in their explanations and
behaviors toward their would-be lovers. In fact, rejectors' accounts indicated that their unwillingness to hurt another
person led them to behave in a considerate and warm manner, and this in turn was probably taken as a sign of
encouragement by the would-be lovers.
This brings us back to our earlier discussion about the conspiracy of silence in unrequited love. Rejectors are reluctant to
send a hurtful rejection message, and would-be lovers are reluctant to receive it. The obvious consequence is that the
would-be lover continues to persist in winning the rejector's heart.
Even if the rejector sent a clear and explicit rejection message, it is highly plausible that the would-be lover did not
interpret it as such. Tennov (1979) argued that, as a result of prevailing beliefs about the reciprocity
 
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of love, lovers often ignore what they do not wish to see. Thus, although rejectors may be blunt about their disinterest,
wishful thinking and self-deception on the part of the would-be lovers can prevent the message from coming through
loud and clear. Finding the courage to reject an admirer outright does not necessarily guarantee that the problem will be
solved because that carefully rehearsed rejection message may fall on selectively deaf ears.
Once again, we see a no-win situation for the rejector. Even if the rejector behaves in an angry or cruel fashion, the
would-be lover may keep trying, sometimes even harder than before. Research findings from studies on long-term
relationships indicate that when one person expresses anger or discontent, the other may try even harder to fix the
relationship (Levenson & Gottman, 1985; Vaughan, 1986). This pattern of behavior partly stems from modern media
sources that portray would-be lovers as persistent, stubborn, and tenacious.
Last, it is interesting to note that rejectors seem to be more aware of the would-be lovers' persistence than the would-be
lovers themselves. The difference was replicated in a follow-up study, in which people were asked to make their own
ratings of their experiences (Baumeister et al., 1993). This inconsistency in perceived persistence comes from two
sources. One is the almost nonexistent communication between the two partiesand thus the absence of any discussion or
agreement about the appropriateness of the would-be lover's behaviors. The second source involves the script of the
would-be lovers. To the would-be lover, persistence is the only way to win the other person's heart. To the rejector,
persistence is unnecessary, annoying, and a waste of time.
In all, would-be lovers and rejectors differed in their perceptions of the episode. Would-be lovers maintained that their
rejectors gave them reason for hope, whereas the rejectors claimed to have been unequivocal in their disinterest.
Rejectors' uncertainty about how to respond may have led them to send mixed messages about their intentions and
desires. At the point at which rejectors become severe or strict in their rejection, however, would-be lovers sometimes
continue to persist. Persistence in the face of rejection is attributed, in part, to cultural stereotypes of the persistent and
eventually gratified lover.
Confusion, Mystery, and Self-Knowledge
Did the experience of unrequited love lead individuals to discover something new or profound about themselves? Many
stories made mention of such discoveries. In general, people found themselves acting in ways that were inconsistent with
normal, established patterns of behavior. Cultural
 
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scripts or models led would-be lovers to act in an overly persistent and pushy manner. Some would-be lovers' accounts
indicated surprise and disappointment in their behavior. As we might expect, many would-be lovers were very unhappy
to discover these new and unusual aspects of themselves. Likewise, rejectors mentioned acting in ways that were out of
character. They worried that their behaviors during the unrequited love experience violated their own standards for being
kind, friendly, and considerate to other people. Overall, it appears that unrequited love often makes people act in strange
or unexpected ways.
Additionally, both parties indicated that the episode led them to experience confusion and puzzlement. However, these
experiences were greatest among would-be lovers. Would-be lovers felt lost, confused, and unable to understand the
rejector. The main source of confusion was the rejectors' refusal of their love. Would-be lovers searched for a logical
explanation of their rejectors' feelings or lack thereof. Some would-be lovers resolved their confusion by derogating their
rejectors, others attributed the unreturned feeling to their own lack of desirable traits or characteristics. The rejectors'
primary source of puzzlement was their would-be lovers' unsolicited attraction to them.
Did people report learning any lessons from their unrequited love experiences? Some people realized their need to
change. However, others indicated that they already changed. Whereas some would-be lovers reported that they learned
to be more cautious of love and relationships, others said that the experience helped them to form new relationships.
Rejectors and would-be lovers reported newly gained understanding about intimate relationships and love. As one man
noted in his story, "I believe that one cannot truly love someone unless there is a reciprocation of feelings . . . Love will
fade if it is not returned" (Baumeister & Wotman, 1992, p. 188). Both the heartbreakers and the heartbroken claim to
have learned a great deal about themselves following their experiences of unrequited love. The content of their claims
suggest, however, that there were not many highly personal or deep lessons to be learned, apart from the broad futility of
one-sided passion.

Conclusion
Unrequited love reveals a dark side of interpersonal relationships. When there exists an imbalance in the degree of need
or desire for a relationship, the consequences can be destructive both to the emotional well-being of the players in the
unrequited love experience and to the stability of any pre-existing interpersonal bond. Sometimes, people fall in love
with someone
 
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objectively more attractive than themselves and thus, stand little chance of seeing their love returned. Other times,
unrequited love results when one person develops a burgeoning attraction to a friend or romantic partner whose feelings
remain platonic. The experience may be most painful for both parties when some intimacy has been established and
affections have been reciprocated.
The evidence provides some support for the cliché "It is better to have loved in vain than never to have loved at all."
Would-be lovers' failures to form the desired, romantic attachment were unanticipated and thus disappointing, but in
retrospect they viewed their experiences as positive. Their self-esteem took some ups and downs and rebuilding self-
esteem became an important part of the recovery process. In time, most would-be lovers got over their heartbreak and
were able to look back with some happy feelings.
Can we also conclude that it is better to have been loved in vain than never to have been loved at all? To be accepted and
cared for is a fundamental motivation among humans (McClelland, 1987), thus it is likely that people prefer to be loved
by someone as opposed to no one. Assuming the pre-existence of some feelings of love and happiness, however, people
faced with additional, unsolicited and unwanted love should find their predicament upsetting and aversive. The findings
indicated that rejectors suffered from feelings of frustration, uncertainty, and guilt and tended to look back on their
experiences with regret and a desire to erase it from their memories.
Contrary to cultural stereotypes of the rejector as a contemptible or base character, most rejectors emerged as innocent,
well-meaning people whose primary motivation was to avoid bringing harm to others. Rejectors ended up feeling torn
between their obligations to others and their obligations to their true feelings. Scriptlessness left the rejectors confused
and constantly concerned about the morality of their actions and their occasional desire to return their admirers'
affections left them confused and guilty.
The emotional outcomes of each person in unrequited love are dependent on other's behaviors. One implication of this
interdependency is that both people can make each other miserable. In fact, in unrequited love, both the rejector and the
would-be lover often end up feeling like victims. One is a victim of constant, persistent pursuit, whereas the other is a
victim of rejection and heartbreak. Interdependence theory also suggests that in unrequited love, the would-be lover faces
a high-stakes gamble with a lot to win or lose, whereas the rejector faces a no-win situation with almost nothing to gain
and much to lose. This explains why rejectors' accounts were so negative about the entire episode.
 
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Our description of unrequited love is only a first step toward a better understanding of this interpersonal phenomenon.
Many questions about unrequited love still remain to be answered. The sample used by Baumeister and Wotman (1992)
consisted primarily of young, unmarried, White, American, heterosexual, middle-class adults. It would be interesting to
examine these conclusions with different samples, such as non-Western cultures and homosexual populations. Because
we did not look directly at gender and personality differences in unrequited love, further studies may find it necessary to
develop and test hypothesis regarding those differences. Finally, principles and issues important in unrequited love may
also be applicable in other research areas, such as stalking and obsessive-relational intrusion.
The idea of love as an ultimate good has been embraced by many cultures throughout centuries. To be in love is to
experience the kind of happiness and satisfaction that cannot be created by other emotions or situations. The research
suggests, however, that in unrequited love, neither the would-be lovers nor their rejectors are very satisfied. Unrequited
love, thus, shows a limitation of taking only the individual approach to love and a necessity of looking at love in an
interpersonal context. Would-be lovers have to face the hurtful rejection from the loved one and the heartbreakers carry
the enormously painful task of rejecting another person's love. The trials and tribulations of unrequited love show how it
is the mutuality of love, not the giving or receiving of love, that is necessary for happiness and fulfillment.

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11
Disrupted Interpersonal Relationships and Mental Health Problems
Chris Segrin
University of Arizona
Every year hundreds of thousands of Americans suffer from mental health problems. Disorders such as depression,
alcoholism, anxiety, and schizophrenia collectively afflict more individuals than certain health problems that captivated
far more public attention, such as cancer and AIDS, for example. A recent prospective epidemiological investigation
found that 9% of the male population and 25% of the female population were treated for depression by 30 years old
(Angst, 1992). In Roscoe and Skomski's (1989) survey of over 1,600 adolescents, approximately 20% were classified as
lonely. Among college freshmen, the point prevalence of bulimia is 4% (Pyle, Neuman, Halvorson, & Mitchell, 1991), a
figure that may be an underestimate as rates of eating disorders are higher among those who choose not to participate in
surveys (Beglin & Fairburn, 1992). Lifetime prevalence estimates of alcoholism in the United States range from 9% to
14% (Anthony, Warner, & Kessler, 1994; Helzer et al., 1990). Given the pervasiveness of mental health problems in
society, it is likely that most people at some point in their lives, will have a relationshipbe it romantic, family,
occupational, or professionalwith someone suffering from a mental health problem (and/or suffer from a mental health
problem themselves).
 
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Findings reviewed in this chapter show that many mental health problems are as much relationship communication
problems as they are psychological problems. This is why depression, alcoholism, loneliness, and so forth are often
characterized as being psychosocial problems. Empirical evidence indicates that some mental health problems are
actually precipitated by disrupted and distressed interpersonal relationships. In other cases, mental health problems have a
corrosive and deteriorating effect on close interpersonal relationships. In still other cases, mental health problems and
distressed interpersonal relationships appear to be in a vicious cycle, whereby one perpetuates the other. In such
instances, where depression, alcoholism, or schizophrenia are involved, the consequences can be disastrous, both
psychologically and socially.
In the social and behavioral sciences, close relationships are typically characterized in positive terms. As is the case,
however, close does not always imply good. A close relationship with an overprotective, intrusive, yet emotionally
distant parent has been implicated in serious mental health problems. Being in a marital relationship that is dissatisfying
can easily lead to episodes of depression (Beach, Jouriles, & O'Leary, 1985). To fully understand their form and
function, students of close relationships must consider some of the potentially negative aspects of such relationships and
their tremendous power to inflict serious psychological damage and impede the recovery process in some instances.

History of Interpersonal Approaches to Mental Health Problems

The idea that mental health problems and interpersonal relationships are meaningfully connected is indeed quite old.
Eighty years ago, Freud spoke of the ''determinants of falling ill as well as all the factors that come into effect after the
patient has fallen ill," by referencing "the misfortunes of life from which arise deprivation of love, poverty, family
quarrels, ill-judged choice of a partner in marriage, (and) unfavorable social circumstances" (Freud, 1917/1966, pp. 431-
432). The sharp focus on problems that are interpersonal in nature is quite evident. Later, Sullivan (1953) more strongly
emphasized the role of interpersonal and social forces in the development of self and disruption of mental health. One of
his more notable contributions involved focusing attention on the importance of same-sex, adolescent, peer relationships
in the developmental process. Sullivan unquestionably endorsed the proposition set forth by Freud that the architecture of
our early interpersonal relationships can lead to later mental health problems. Conceptualizations of mental illness
embedded
 
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in the milieu of the patient's interpersonal relationships are also evident in the writings of Sullivan's associates and
contemporaries (e.g., Fromm-Reichmann, 1960; Meyer, 1957). Another significant development to emerge during this
era was the publication of Leary's (1957) Interpersonal Diagnosis of Personality. With an obvious lineage traceable to
Sullivan, Leary described his well-known interpersonal circle as a method of defining a range of interpersonal behavior
that included abnormal or disturbed extremes.
These seeds of the interpersonal approaches to understanding mental illness have grown into what has been described as
the "social-interactional viewpoint" (Carson, 1983) and the "interpersonal school" (Klerman, 1986). Carson (1983)
eloquently summarized the foundation of this paradigm by stating that:
symptoms presented by psychotherapy clients (e.g., "depression") actually tell us very little until they are
decomposed into specific components, which vary from one client to another presenting a particular symptom.
The symptom is, therefore, a prototype of a given class of problems, and the underlying problems usually turn out
to be interpersonal in naturefrequently having the form, "I can't (do something interpersonal)." (p. 147)
Modern day instantiations of this perspective developed rapidly in the 1960s and 1970s by those who stressed the
importance of concurrent, as opposed to early childhood, interpersonal relationships and mental health problems. In
departing from some of the tenets of Sullivan's interpersonal theory and expanding the focus to a wider variety of
interpersonal relationships, modern interpersonal approaches to psychopathology bear less resemblance to their
originators. This era was launched by works such as the family communication and double-bind theory of schizophrenia
by Bateson and associates in the 1960s, Coyne's interactional theory of depression, Lewinsohn's behavioral theory of
depression, and the family systems model of alcoholism by Steinglass, all from the 1970s, each of which is discussed
later in this chapter. These theories, models, and hypotheses have been developed to explain a wide range of disorders;
yet, each shares the postulate that distressed and dysfunctional interpersonal relations are inextricably entwined with
psychological distress. The dozens, and in some cases hundreds, of studies that have spawned these pioneering works are
testimony to their heuristic value.
In the pages that follow, research findings on the interpersonal and social aspects of schizophrenia, depression, loneliness,
alcoholism, and eating disorders are examined. Although conceptually and empirically distinct, each of these disorders
has a common correlate: disturbed and dysfunctional relationships with other people. Notwithstanding the various cogni-
 
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tive, neurochemical, life-stress, genetic, and behavioral theories that provide valid accounts of the etiology of these
disorders, this review shows that problematic interpersonal relationships also play a contributory causal role in the
development and/or course of these disorders. As such, they are rightfully characterized as psychosocial disorders.

Schizophrenia
Schizophrenia is a formal thought disorder (actually a family of disorders) characterized by symptoms such as delusions,
hallucinations, disorganized speech, grossly disorganized or catatonic behavior, inability to initiate and persist in goal-
directed activity, affective flattening, and impoverished thinking evident in speech and language behavior (DSM-IV;
American Psychiatric Association, 1994). An additional diagnostic criterion is social-occupational dysfunction.
Consequently, it is virtually true, by definition, that people afflicted with schizophrenia experience problems in their
interpersonal relationships.
Schizophrenia was one of the first psychological disorders to be associated with intensive theorizing and research on its
connection with interpersonal relationships. The majority of such energies were directed toward explaining and
understanding the role of family interaction in the disorder. Although early theories probably overemphasized the role of
family relationships in contributing to the disorder, family perspectives on schizophrenia remain prominent in the
literature today (e.g., Anderson, Reiss, & Hogarty, 1986; McFarlane & Beels, 1988; Miklowitz, Goldstein, &
Neuchterlein, 1995).
Early Family Approaches to Schizophrenia
One of the initial forays to family relationships and schizophrenia was headed by Bateson and his colleagues at the Palo
Alto VA Hospital (e.g., Bateson, Jackson, Haley, & Weakland, 1956; Watzlawick, Bavelas, & Jackson, 1967). Out of
this work emerged the well-known double-bind theory. According to this position, communication has multiple levels of
meaning that include a literal content and a metamessage at a higher level that provides information about the
interpretation of the message content and/or relationship between the sender and receiver. Observations of schizophrenic
family interactions revealed paradoxical and contradictory communications in which the content of verbal messages was
often contradicted by the metamessages that were typically, non-verbally communicated. Growing up in such families
was thought to
 
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make logical communication impossible. Thus, the illogical and severely disturbed communication of the schizophrenic
patient was thought to be the net result of growing up in a family plagued by such dysfunctional interactions.
Another early family process phenomenon to appear in the literature was mystification (Laing, 1965). Mystified
communication involves ambiguities, misunderstandings, and misidentification of issues and topics. Mystification is
commonly evident in a process whereby a person responds to the other in terms of his or her own needs, but at the same
time behaves as if he or she is really responding to the needs of the other. So, for example, an aging mother might
respond to her son's nutritional needs by giving him a lot of calcium-rich foods, when in fact, it is the mother who is in
need of additional calcium in her diet. Such parent-child interactions are thought to have teleological significance in the
development of dysfunctionally symbolic relationships that ultimately produce symptoms of the disorder. Laing's thesis
was that schizophrenia was a logical reaction to an illogical family environment. As an unfortunate aside, Laing, like
Leary, departed from the scientific milieu prior to seeing his innovative ideas come to their full fruition.
The family processes of schism and skew also figured prominently in early family approaches to schizophrenia (Lidz,
Cornelison, Fleck, & Terry, 1957). The schismatic pattern of family interaction entailed open and hostile conflict.
Schismatic parents continually attempt to undermine the standing of the other in the eyes of the child. In this sense their
interactions are typically characterized as battles for the loyalty of the child. Lidz (et al.) highlighted the ineffectiveness,
insecurity, and paranoia among the parents that drove this family process.
A skewed pattern of family interaction involves an extremely overintrusive mother who is apparently impervious to the
needs of other family members. Fathers in such families are unable to control or counterbalance the deviant parenting of
the mother. These fathers tend to be passive and are often themselves disturbed by addictions, psychosis, or other
psychosocial problems. Children in such families are forced to accept a bizarre worldview that is skewed toward that of
an overintrusive parent whose mental health could, itself, be questioned.
Hopes for explaining the etiology of schizophrenia with these family process variables were ultimately met with
disappointment. McFarlane and Beels (1988) appropriately noted that concepts such as double-bind communication,
schism, and skew are no longer considered to be causal agents in the disorder. Most of these early family constructs and
hypotheses were defined on the basis of small-sample, clinical investigations, without
 
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matched control groups, random-sampling methods, or attention to the reliability of the clinical observations (Shean,
1978).
Contemporary Family Approaches to Schizophrenia
Contemporary investigations of family relationships and schizophrenia center more on explaining the course than the
cause of the disorder. Two family variables that have been, and continue to be, particularly influential in this area are
expressed emotion and communication deviance (Wynne, 1981).
Early investigations of family expressed emotion (EE; Brown, Monck, Carstairs, & Wing, 1962; Vaughn & Leff, 1976)
identified a pattern of criticism, overinvolvement, overprotectiveness, excessive attention, and emotional reactivity that
appeared to create a vulnerability to relapse and poor social adjustment among schizophrenic patients (see Hooley, 1985,
for a review). Patients who returned to a home with high EE relatives exhibited a 9-month relapse rate of 51%, whereas
only 13% of those who returned to a low EE family relapsed (Vaughn & Leff, 1976).
Vaughn and Leff (1981) specified four behavioral characteristics of EE: intrusiveness, anger and/or acute distress and
anxiety, overt blame and criticism of the patient, and an intolerance of the patient's symptoms. Family therapy programs
that improve communication and problem solving, thus lowering EE, significantly lower relapse rates (e.g., Doane,
Goldstein, Miklowitz, & Falloon, 1986).
Recently, Rosenfarb and his colleagues examined the functioning of a sample of young and recently discharged
schizophrenia patients who returned to either high or low expressed emotion families (Rosenfarb, Goldstein, Mintz, &
Nuechterlein, 1995). Patients from high EE families exhibited more odd and disruptive behavior during a family
interaction approximately 6 weeks after hospital discharge than did patients from low EE households. Relatives in the
high EE households were more critical of the patients when they verbalized unusual thoughts than were low EE family
members. Studies such as these clearly paint a picture of a vicious circle in high EE family relations: These parents
respond to the patient with a lot of criticism because patients from these households appear to exhibit more bizarre and
disruptive behavior than patients from low EE homes. It is likely that the negative reactions they receive from their
families further contribute to the potential for relapse among the patients.
Research on family expressed emotion continues to flourish (e.g., Cole, Grolnick, Kane, Zastowney, & Lehman, 1993;
Docherty, 1995; Mueser et al., 1993). In addition to being a useful and reliable predictor of relapse, EE may also be
fruitfully understood as a familial risk indicator for
 
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schizophrenia (Miklowitz, 1994) as well as a family response to dealing with a schizophrenic member.
A considerable body of evidence indicates that families with a schizophrenic member communicate in odd, idiosyncratic,
illogical, and fragmented language, even when that member is not present. Topics of conversation often drift or abruptly
change direction with a lack of closure. This characteristic style of family communication has been labeled
communication deviance (CD; Singer, Wynne, & Toohey, 1978). It is particularly intriguing that this distorted form of
communication is highly reminiscent of the communication style that typifies the actual schizophrenic individual.
Research by Goldstein and his colleagues indicates that parental CD precedes onset (Goldstein, 1987) and is therefore an
excellent predictor of schizophrenia among premorbid adolescents (see Goldstein & Strachan, 1987, for a review).
In a masterful program of research, Miklowitz and his associates examined the disrupted verbal interactions of
schizophrenic patients and their family members (e.g., Miklowitz et al., 1995; Miklowitz et al., 1986; Miklowitz et al.,
1991). Their work shows that aspects of CD, such as idea fragments (e.g., "But the thing is as I said, there's got . . . you
can't drive in the alley"), contradictions and retractions (e.g., "No, that's right, she does"), and ambiguous references (e.g.,
"Kid stuff that's one thing but something else is different too") distinguish parents of schizophrenia patients from parents
of healthy control subjects (see Miklowitz et al., 1991, for additional examples and CD constructs). As if to make a
potentially disruptive family situation worse for the schizophrenic patient, it appears that families that are high in EE are
also high in CD (Miklowitz et al., 1986). Consequently, patients may be dealt a double dose of problematic interactional
exchanges with their family members. It is little wonder that patients discharged to parents high in EE, who are also
likely to express unclear, odd, and fragmented ideas, are at such a high risk for relapse.
The disruptive potential of relationships with high CD family members has been documented in a longitudinal
investigation that followed a sample of at-risk, but nonpsychotic, adolescents over a period of 5 years (Doane, West,
Goldstein, Rodnick, & Jones, 1981). Adolescents whose parents exhibited high CD and interpersonal aspects of EE, such
as criticism, guilt induction, and intrusiveness, at Time one were more likely to develop schizophrenia-spectrum
disorders as young adults than those from low CD and EE families.
The work on family EE and CD is best summarized as follows: Family EE is a good predictor of relapse among
schizophrenic patients in remission; family CD is a good discriminator between families of schizophrenic
 
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persons and families of healthy controls (Miklowitz, 1994). Although neither EE nor CD are specific to families with a
schizophrenic member, each represents a potent risk factor for the course and possible onset of the disorder.
Personal Relationships and Schizophrenia
Finally, it should be noted that problematic interpersonal relationships extend beyond the realm of family relations for the
schizophrenic patient. Schizophrenic patients typically have smaller social networks and report that they have fewer close
friends than healthy controls or even other psychiatric patients (Erickson, Beiser, Iacono, Fleming, & Lin, 1989).
Importantly, Erickson et al. observed a negative correlation between number of family members in the schizophrenic
patients' social networks and their prognosis, whereas a greater number of friends and acquaintances was associated with
better outcomes. In addition to potential disruption of friendship relations, schizophrenia is also associated with less
closeness and more conflict with siblings (Lively, Friedrich, & Buckwalter, 1995). Participants in Lively et al.'s study
expressed a considerable degree of grief and stress associated with their attempts to cope with the ill sibling.

Depression
Major Depressive disorder is a pervasive illness with a lifetime risk of 10% to 25% for women and 5% to 12% for men
(DSM-IV; American Psychiatric Association, 1994). The disorder is associated with a dangerously high mortality rate, as
15% of its victims die by suicide. Depressive episodes are marked by nearly constant depressed mood, diminished
interest in any activities, significant weight loss or gain, sleep disturbance, psychomotor agitation or retardation, fatigue,
feelings of worthlessness and guilt, difficulty concentrating, and recurrent thoughts of death or suicidal ideation
(American Psychiatric Association, 1994).
Depression and Social Skills
An early interpersonally oriented approach to depression appeared in the form of Lewinsohn's Behavioral Theory of
Depression (Lewinsohn, 1974, 1975). As part of this theory, Lewinsohn stressed that depressed people often exhibit
disrupted social skills, this makes it difficult for them to obtain positive reinforcement from their relationships with other
people.
 
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At the same time, poor social skills make it difficult to avoid negative outcomes in social relationships. The inability to
produce positiveand avoid negativesocial outcomes is thought to precipitate episodes of depression. A considerable body
of literature is generally supportive of the notion that depressed people have social skills problems that can create
relational difficulties for them (see McCann & LaLonde, 1993; Segrin, 1990, Segrin & Abramson, 1994, for reviews).
Poor social skills have a strong association with interpersonal rejection from others (Segrin, 1992). Therefore, depressed
people with poor social skills would be expected to experience difficulty in establishing and maintaining rewarding
interpersonal relationships.
Depression and Interpersonal Rejection. A substantial body of evidence indicates that an important interpersonal problem
for people afflicted with depression is rejection from others (e.g., Amstutz & Kaplan, 1987; Gotlib & Beatty, 1985;
Gurtman, 1987; Siegel & Alloy, 1990). Much of the research on this phenomenon is guided by Coyne's Interactional
Model of Depression (Coyne, 1976a, 1976b). According to this model, depressed people are hypothesized to induce a
negative mood in their interactional partners through a process of emotional contagion. This hypothesis is predicated on
the assumption that it is an irritating, negative experience to interact with depressed people. As a consequence of this
negative mood induction, others are expected to move from initially offering nongenuine reassurance and support to
outright rejection and avoidance of the depressed individual. Depressed people appear to be quite aware of this rejection
(Segrin, 1993a), and such negative interpersonal feedback exacerbates their negative mood states (Segrin & Dillard,
1991).
Numerous attempts to experimentally test Coyne's Interactional Model of depression have often failed to demonstrate the
hypothesized negative mood induction effect (e.g., Gotlib & Robinson, 1982; McNiel, Arkowitz, & Pritchard, 1987; but
see Coyne, 1976a), although this effect may become more evident over repeated interactions with the depressed target
(Hokanson & Butler, 1992). However, the rejection of depressed persons by their interactional partners appears to be a
reliable and robust phenomenon (e.g., Amstutz & Kaplan, 1987; Elliott, MacNair, Herrick, Yoder, & Byrne, 1991;
Gurtman, 1987) and holds up across different cultures (Vanger, Summerfield, Rosen, & Watson, 1991) and age groups
(Connolly, Geller, Marton, & Kutcher, 1992; Peterson, Mullins, & Ridley-Johnson, 1985; Rudolph, Hammen, & Burge,
1994).
This interpersonal rejection effect associated with depression appears to be moderated by a number of different variables.
For example, depressed males elicit more rejection from others, especially other females,
 
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than do depressed females (Hammen & Peters, 1977, 1978; Joiner, Alfano, & Metalsky, 1992). Some evidence also
indicates that friends are less rejecting of depressed persons than strangers (Segrin, 1993a; see Sacco, Milana, & Dunn,
1985), that other people who assume a helper role are less rejecting (Marks & Hammen, 1982), and that those who rely
on advice giving and joking with the depressed person are more rejecting (Notarius & Herrick, 1988). Other potential
moderators of the depression-rejection effect include physical attractiveness of the depressed target (less rejection of
attractive targets; Amstutz & Kaplan, 1987) and self-esteem of the target; depressed people who are low in self-esteem
and seek reassurance from their partners are especially prone to eliciting rejection (Joiner et al., 1992).
A meta-analysis of the literature on interpersonal responses to depression indicates that the phenomenon of interpersonal
rejection of depressed persons is very reliable and moderate in magnitude across studies (Segrin & Dillard, 1992).
However, the extent to which depressed people create a negative affective state in others, through social interaction, is
weaker and more sporadic. Research conducted since this meta-analysis continued to produce results that generally are
consistent with this conclusion (e.g., Connolly et al., 1992; Joiner et al., 1992; Marcus & Davis, 1993; Rudolph et al.,
1994; Segrin 1993a). Interested readers may wish to consult Coyne (1990), Coyne, Burchill, and Stiles (1990), Coyne,
Kahn, & Gotlib (1987), McCann (1990), and Segrin and Dillard (1992) for more in-depth reviews of this literature.
Personal Relationships of Depressed Persons. The personal relationships of depressed people are characterized by
dissatisfaction (Burns, Sayers, & Moras, 1994), diminished influence and intimacy (Nezlek, Imbrie, & Shean, 1994;
Patterson & Bettini, 1993), and diminished activity and involvement (Gotlib & Lee, 1989). Some evidence indicates that
the quality of social interaction with others is more strongly associated with depression than the sheer quantity (e.g.,
Rotenberg & Hamel, 1988). As might be expected, the availability of a confidant with whom one can self-disclose and
engage in rewarding conversation is negatively associated with depression. It is the case, however, that many depressed
people lack a close intimate relationship altogether (Brown & Harris, 1978; Costello, 1982). This finding is particularly
important in that lack of a close confiding relationship appears to create a heightened vulnerability to experiencing
depression (Brown & Harris, 1978).
Research on the personal relationships of depressives leads one to question the worth of their relational partners. For
example, in Fiske and Peterson's (1991) investigation, depressed participants complained of
 
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dissatisfaction and anger with their romantic partners as well as increased quarreling relative to nondepressed
participants. These same respondents reported being hurt or upset by their romantic partners more frequently than did
nondepressed controls, despite (or perhaps as a cause of) their greater desire for more love in the relationship. Depressed
people also perceive their intimate partners as more hostile than nondepressed persons do (Thompson, Whiffen, & Blain,
1995). One recently studied group of depressed women reported that they received less social support from their
confidants than did a group of nondepressed controls (Belsher & Costello, 1991). The confidants of these depressed
women exhibited more depressogenic speech (e.g., "I can't do anything right anymore" or "I'm never going to find a job")
than did confidants of either nondepressed or psychiatric controls. One might speculate that these friends actually
contribute to the depressed person's aversive psychological experience. Findings such as these are one illustration of how
being in dysfunctional, hostile, and unsupportive relationships that are wanting in intimacy precipitate depression and
other undesirable affective states (Coyne & DeLongis, 1986; Coyne, Kessler, Tal, Turnbull, Wortman, & Greden, 1987).
If it is the case that depressed persons typically find themselves in low quality, interpersonal relationships, it is necessary
to at least contemplate the extent to which the relationships are actually better than the depressed person makes them out
to be. Depressed people have a tendency to be overly negative in evaluating their interpersonal relationships (Hokanson,
Hummer, & Butler, 1991) and estimating the frequency with which negative interpersonal events occur (Kuiper &
MacDonald, 1983). Undoubtedly, many depressed people are in dysfunctional or dissatisfying interpersonal relationships.
However, there is reason to suspect that at least some of the variance in these reports of aversive and dissatisfying
interpersonal relationships is due to the depressed person's general tendency toward negatively biased assessments of
such relationships.
Depression and Family Interaction. In addition to the experience of disrupted personal relationships, depression is also
associated with problems in marital interactions and relationships (see Beach, Sandeen, & O'Leary, 1990; Coyne et al.,
1987, for reviews). Repeatedly, this research shows that depression and marital distress go hand in hand (Beach &
O'Leary, 1993; Beach et al., 1990; Hinchliffe, Hooper, & Roberts, 1978). Estimates indicate that 50% of all women in
distressed marriages are depressed (Beach et al., 1985) and 50% of all depressed women are in distressed marriages
(Rounsaville, Weissman, Prusoff, & Herceg-Baron, 1979).
The communication between depressed people and their spouses is often negative in tone and tends to generate more
negative affect in each
 
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spouse than that of nondepressed couples (Gotlib & Whiffen, 1989; Kahn, Coyne, & Margolin, 1985; Ruscher & Gotlib,
1988). Biglan and his coworkers suggested that depressed persons and their spouses often find themselves in
dysfunctional vicious cycles of interaction (Biglan et al., 1985; Hops et al., 1987). Their findings indicate that depressed
persons are often rewarded by their spouses for emitting depressive behaviors in that the depressive behaviors tend to
inhibit the hostile and irritable behaviors of the spouse (see also Nelson & Beach, 1990). McCabe and Gotlib (1993)
showed that over the course of a 10 to 15 minute marital interaction, the verbal behavior of depressed wives became
increasingly negative. It is therefore not surprising that this study demonstrated that couples with a depressed spouse
viewed their marital interactions as more hostile and less friendly than did the nondepressed couples.
In an impressive program of research, Hinchliffe and her colleagues investigated a number of specific marital
communication problems experienced by depressed people (Hinchliffe, Hooper, & Robert, 1978; Hinchliffe, Hooper,
Roberts, & Vaughan, 1978; Hinchliffe, Vaughan, Hooper, & Roberts, 1978; Hooper, Vaughan, Hinchliffe, & Roberts,
1978). These investigations reveal that when interacting with their spouses, depressed persons exhibit distorted patterns
of responsiveness such that there is a lack of synchrony between the husband and wife. This is evident through increased
self-focus and decreased responsiveness to the partner's states and opinions among couples with a depressed member. In
addition, depressed people tend to be most expressive with their spouses when they are discussing issues that are
negative in nature. It is interesting to note that in one study, acute depression was associated with a tendency to control
and influence the other spouse (Hooper, Baugh, et al., 1978). These and other investigations indicate that the marital
interactions of depressed persons are not always withdrawn and avoidant; they can take on a hostile and manipulative
tone well.
A variety of other investigations of marital interaction find depression to be associated with poor communication during
problem-solving interactions (Basco, Prager, Pite, Tamir, & Stephens, 1992), negative self-evaluations and statements of
negative well-being (Hautzinger, Linden, & Hoffman, 1982; Linden, Hautzinger, & Hoffman, 1983), verbal
aggressiveness (Segrin & Fitzpatrick, 1992), and problems in establishing intimacy (Basco et al., 1992; Bullock, Siegel,
Weissman, & Paykel, 1972). Given all of these negative communication behaviors and marital problems, it is easy to
understand why depression and marital distress are so powerfully related. Some evidence indicates that these
communication problems are the result of marital distress more than depression per se (Schmaling & Jacobson, 1990).
However, the similarity of these findings with those of depressed persons' other personal relationships points to obvious
and
 
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pervasive interpersonal problems across a variety of different relational contexts.
Depressed persons experience as many problems in their role as a parent as they do in their role as a spouse. In numerous
investigations, depression was linked to disrupted and dysfunctional parenting behavior (e.g., Hamilton, Jones, &
Hammen, 1993; Hammen et al., 1987). In general, the parenting behavior of depressives is characterized by similar
negativity, hostility, complaining, and poor interpersonal problem solving that is associated with their other relationships.
Apparently, as a consequence of this disrupted parenting behavior, the children of depressed parents are at a much higher
risk for behavioral, cognitive, and emotional dysfunction than are those of nondepressed parents (e.g., Lee & Gotlib,
1991; Whiffen & Gotlib, 1989; see Downey & Coyne, 1990; Gelfand & Teti, 1990; Morrison, 1983, for reviews). Among
the problems experienced by children of depressed mothers is depression itself (Hammen et al., 1987; Warner, Weissman,
Fendrich, Wickramaratne, & Moreau, 1992). Although the effects of maternal depression received much attention in the
literature, evidence suggests that paternal depression also has ill effects on children (Forehand & Smith, 1986; Thomas &
Forehand, 1991).
Children of depressed mothers typically exhibit a behavioral pattern indicative of rejection. During interaction with their
parents, children of depressives express negative affect, are generally tense and irritable, spend less time looking at their
parent, and appear less content than do children who interact with their nondepressed parents (e.g., Cohn, Campbell,
Matias, & Hopkins, 1990; Field, 1984).
Finally, it appears that many depressed people experienced difficulties in their families when growing up. Consistent
results indicate that people who are depressed typically describe their family of origin as rejecting (Lewinsohn &
Rosenbaum, 1987) and uncaring (Gotlib, Mount, Cordy, & Whiffen, 1988).
Comorbidity of Depression and Loneliness
It is difficult to examine the relational well-being of depressed people without noting the prominent association between
this state of distress and loneliness (Rich & Bonner, 1987; Weeks, Michela, Peplau, & Bragg, 1980). It has been argued
that these two psychosocial problems have such similarity in features, especially in the domain of interpersonal problems,
that the prototype of loneliness is literally nested within that of depression (Horowitz, French, Lapid, & Weckler, 1982).
In short, the social withdrawal that is characteristically symptomatic of depression undoubtedly prompts feelings of
loneliness. At the same time, chronic loneliness can be
 
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emotionally taxing and can easily cascade into depression (Rich & Scovel, 1987; see Segrin, (1998) for a more in-depth
analysis of the comorbidity and overlapping interpersonal features of depression and loneliness). In the following section,
a very similar constellation of problems with personal and family relationships is evident among those who are lonely.

Loneliness
Like the literature on depression, research on loneliness illustrates numerous social and interpersonal problems associated
with the condition. Given that loneliness is a discrepancy between a person's desired and achieved level of social
interaction (Peplau, Russell, & Heim, 1979), it is perhaps a foregone conclusion that lonely people have problems with
interpersonal communication and relationships.
Loneliness and Personal Relationships
Perhaps the most substantial affliction experienced by lonely persons is a lack of intimacy in their social and personal
relationships (e.g. Hamid, 1989; Revenson & Johnson, 1984; Vaux, 1988). This may be explained by the fact that lonely
people have a difficult time making friends (Medora & Woodward, 1986) and experience poor communication with
family members (Brage, Meredith, & Woodward, 1993) and low social integration (Vaux, 1988). The most common type
of problem that lonely people experience is inhibited sociability, manifested through difficulties with introducing the self
to others, making friends, participating in groups, and making phone calls to others to initiate social activity (Horowitz &
French, 1979). These problems with social behavior are perhaps best understood as the consequences of disrupted social
skills that are prevalent among those who are lonely (Jones, 1982; Jones, Hobbs, & Hockenbury, 1982; Segrin, 1996;
Spitzberg & Canary, 1985).
Loneliness appears to be tied to feeling a lack of control over personal relationships. For instance, Schulz (1976)
constructed a 2-month long, social contact program between students and institutionalized elderly. Some elderly residents
chose when they had this contact and/or predicted its frequency and duration. Other elderly participants were just
dropped in on periodically. In each condition, the student-elderly contacts were of equal duration. However, it was the
elderly who had some control or predictability in these relational contacts that felt less lonely. The importance of
controllability also appears prominently in the literature on loneliness and social cognition. The tendency to make
uncontrollable
 
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attributions for outcomes of interpersonal events, as well as internal attributions for interpersonal failures and external
attributions for interpersonal successes, was demonstrated to be a strong correlate of loneliness (Anderson & Arnoult,
1985; Horowitz, French, & Anderson, 1982).
Involvement in personal relationships offers numerous benefits, or provisions, such as attachment, social integration,
guidance, and reassurance of worth (Weiss, 1974). Operating from this social provisions framework, Kraus and her
colleagues demonstrated that lonely subjects felt that they had less access to these social provisions from their
relationships with others (Kraus, Davis, Bazzini, Church, & Kirchman, 1993). This is understandable in light of the fact
that feelings of loneliness in this study were also associated with fewer friends, fewer activities with friends, and less
perceived quality of friendship.
Gaining access to the social provisions of personal relationships may be especially problematic for lonely people because
they tend to hold negative views of other people, including relational partners. Student participants in a study by
Wittenberg and Reis (1986) exhibited a tendency to provide more negative evaluations of their dormitory roommateand
be less accepting of other people, in generalas a function of their own loneliness. With such negative views of those who
are in a position to dispense the social provisions that appear to ameliorate loneliness, many lonely people create a self-
fulfilling and perpetuating interpersonal problem for themselves.
The Ineffectiveness of Family Relations to Ameliorate Loneliness
What appears to be particularly lacking for the lonely person are meaningful and intimate friendships. Quality
relationships with family members, on the other hand, do little to prevent or ameliorate the experience of loneliness (e.g.,
Jones & Moore, 1990). In fact, Jones and Moore found that the more social support students had from their family, the
more lonely they were. Although the increased family social support may be a result of the students' loneliness, it is clear
that these types of relationships do little to help the lonely person's situation. In a study with truly mind-bending results,
Andersson and his colleagues further explored the role of family relationships in the experience of loneliness (Andersson,
Mullins, & Johnson, 1990). He obtained retrospective reports of parent-child relationships from a large sample of elderly
women in their 70s and 80s. Children who had an excessively close, warm, and nurturing relationship with at least one
parent were significantly more lonely as elderly adults than a group of controls. Andersson et al. (1990) concluded that
the effects of overinvolvement from parents can be as noxious as
 
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underinvolvement or neglect when it comes to producing lonely children. This is due in part to the fact that parental
overinvolvement can create a sense of narcissism in the child. One reason that family relationships and involvement
might be so ineffective at buffering against loneliness is because they are relationships of obligation. Consequently,
lonely people find little solace in social support from persons who they feel are obligated to offer it.
One might additionally hypothesize that extremely close parent-child relationships build great expectations that other
relationships chronically fail to meet. Such a phenomenon could easily create a sense of dissatisfaction and longing for
greater intimacy in one's interpersonal relationships. Finally, excessive closeness and interaction with parents displace the
interactions that children have with peers. This leads to a corruption of the processes that lead to peer-referent social
skills. An individual lacking in such social skills would again experience difficulty in establishing and maintaining
satisfying social relations.
Additional suspicion about the ill-effects of relationships with the family of origin have been raised by results of a recent
investigation from Henwood and Solano (1994). These authors surveyed a sample of first-grade children and their
parents and found that children's loneliness was significantly correlated with that of their mothers (see also Lobdell &
Perlman, 1986). Whether parental loneliness is transmitted via genetics, environment, socialization, or a combination of
these factors, the family does not appear to be a source of buffers against the loneliness experience.
Loneliness and Social Anxiety
One possible cause of the lonely person's problems in establishing intimate relationships involves social anxiety. There is
a powerful link between loneliness and the experience of social anxiety (e.g., Moore & Schultz, 1983; Segrin, 1993b;
Segrin & Kinney, 1995; Solano & Koester, 1989). The socially anxious tend to approach social interactions with
discomfort and nervousness and in more severe cases, avoid them altogether. As a consequence, other people typically
respond rather unfavorably to these awkward and reserved interactions. Many people cope with the experience of social
anxiety by avoiding those situations that prompt the anxiety. For the lonely person, this may result in evading others
before ever having a chance to develop relationships with them. It is easy to see how the experience of social anxiety
creates barriers to establishing meaningful relationships with others.
 
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Alcoholism
Alcoholism is a specific class of the more general diagnosis of substance dependence. Defining features of alcohol
dependence include tolerance (i.e., need for increased amounts to achieve the desired effect or diminished effect with
same amount), ill effects associated with withdrawal (e.g., hyperactivity, hand tremor, insomnia, nausea, or anxiety),
ingestion of larger amounts over longer periods of time than intended, a persistent desire or unsuccessful efforts to
reduce or control intake, spending a lot of time obtaining the substance, and diminished or disturbed social, occupational,
or recreational activities as a result of persistent alcohol use (DSM-IV, American Psychiatric Association, 1994).
Contact with clients at the VA center in Jackson, Mississippi led Foy and his colleagues to note that many of the
alcoholics seeking treatment reported having interpersonal problems (Foy, Massey, Duer, Ross, & Wooten, 1979). In
particular, these clients appeared to have difficulty with their coworkers and bosses that caused job-related problems.
Observations such as these come as little surprise to the individual acquainted with an alcoholic. Interpersonal problems
are fairly pervasive among those with serious drinking problems. Problematic relationships clearly have the potential to
trigger the onset of problem drinking in some people. Once the pattern of problem drinking is established, interpersonal
relationships typically suffer.
Insight into the origins of alcoholics' interpersonal relationship problems may be gleaned from research on the
interpersonal traits associated with alcohol dependence. For example, continuous (versus episodic) alcoholics can be
characterized by elevated cynicism and distrust in interpersonal relationships (McMahon, Davidson, Gersh, & Flynn,
1991). Although it is not clear if these traits antedated the alcoholism or proceeded from it, each possibility has intuitive
appeal.
Alcoholism and Family Relationships
The toll of alcoholism on interpersonal relationships is very evident when studying alcoholics and their spouses. Suman
and Nagalakshmi (1993) found spouses of alcoholics to be low in extraversion and high in neuroticism. These same
spouses were significantly more inhibited and withdrawn in interpersonal relationships than spouses of nonalcoholics.
Nagalakshmi also found alcoholics to describe themselves as more loving, affectionate, and understanding than
nonalcoholics (Neeliyara, Nagalakshmi, & Ray, 1989). However, their spouses sharply disagreed with the alcoholics'
self-perceptions, perceiving them as less loving and more aggressive. Such differing perceptions among intimates are a
potent recipe for distress.
 
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In a pioneering study of marital relations and alcoholism, Gorad (1971) placed marital pairs in a game simulation in
which they could win money individually through competitive moves or collectively through cooperative moves. Gorad
also included a possibility in which partners could secretly compete with each other without making their competitive
moves known. The alcoholic men in this study made more secretly competitive moves than their wives or any of the
nonalcoholic men. This finding is thought to be characteristic of alcoholics' attempts to avoid taking responsibility for
their behavior in close relationshipswhere alcohol provides an external, uncontrollable attribution.
In an extremely influential line of research, Steinglass demonstrated that the interactions of alcoholics with their spouses
are actually more patterned, organized, and predictable while they are intoxicated (Steinglass, 1979, 1981; Steinglass &
Robertson, 1983; Steinglass, Weiner, & Mendelson, 1971). Thus, the alcohol ingestion serves an adaptive function in the
marital relationship through a stabilizing phenomenon. In one investigation of alcoholics and their family members
(Steinglass et al., 1971), the expression of previously inhibited positive affect between family members became extremely
pronounced during drinking periods. Observations such as these prompted Steinglass et al. to suggest that there is an
alcoholic system in some families, in which drinking is an integral part of the family system that actually maintains and
stabilizes the family. Unfortunately, in the majority of cases the intoxication provides only a temporary solution to the
family's problems and often brings with it more serious, long-term ill effects.
Although drinking temporarily injects positivity into some family relationships, several laboratory investigations also
documented negative effects associated with drinking. For example, Jacob had families with an alcoholic father discuss
items from various questionnaire inventories (Jacob, Ritchey, Cvitkovic, & Blane, 1981). During their family
discussions, the alcoholic couples expressed more negative affect during the drink versus no-drink conditions (see also
Billings, Kessler, Gomberg, & Weiner, 1979). The nature of nonalcoholics' interactions was not effected by the drinking
conditions.
The literature on alcoholism and marital and family relations (see Jacob & Seilhamer, 1987; Jacobs & Wolin, 1989, for
reviews) clearly indicates that for at least some families, alcohol brings stability and temporary positivity. These
outcomes contribute to a family maintenance of the alcoholism. Studies by Jacob and Billings are a reminder that
increased negativity in family relations is also quite possible as a result of drinking (e.g., Billings et al., 1979; Jacob et
al., 1981). An intriguing issue in need of further clarification is the extent to which distressed family relations
 
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contribute to problem drinking, as well as the extent to which problem drinking deteriorates family relationships.
Currently, there appear to be no data that directly disconfirm either of these causal routes.
Children of Alcoholics
Children of alcoholics (COAs) received a great deal of research attention as an at-risk population (e.g., Sher, 1991;
Windle & Searles, 1990). Concern with this population stems from the belief that parental alcoholism leads to disrupted
and dysfunctional family environments that have ill effects for those who grow up in them. These ill effects are driven by
parental modeling of dysfunctional and destructive behaviors, corruption and deterioration of parenting behaviors, or an
amalgamation of both processes. Indeed, results of a large sample, cross sectional study with rigorous sampling
techniques indicate that COAs exhibited significant differences from non-COAs in greater involvement in alcohol use,
more drug dependence, more depression, agoraphobia, social phobia and generalized anxiety, less behavioral control,
lower self-esteem, lower scores on tests of verbal ability, and lower academic achievement (Sher, Walitzer, Wood, &
Brent, 1991). It should be noted that differences between COAs and non-COAs in this investigation were small to
moderate in magnitude. Other findings indicate that COAs are more depressed, less satisfied with their marriages, and
more likely to drink for coping purposes than non-COAs (Domenico & Windle, 1993). Findings such as these suggest
such pervasive deficits among COAs that it is a wonder they are even minimally functional.
The problem most strongly linked with being a child of an alcoholic parent is a risk for alcoholism (Pollock, Schneider,
Garielli, & Goodwin, 1987). Children of alcoholics are far more likely to have alcohol problems themselves than are
members of the general population. Consideration must certainly be given to the influence of genetic mechanisms in the
familial transmission of alcoholism. At the same time, however, it is plausible to assume that social learning processes
also contribute to the phenomenon. Children who observe parents using alcohol as a means of relaxation, coping with
stress, celebration, and so forth naturally are expected to imitate this behavior that their parent(s) regularly modeled
during the formative years.
Notwithstanding some of the significant problems that appear to be associated with being a child of an alcoholic, a
nontrivial body of literature is emerging that questions the distinctness and at-risk status of the COA population. For
example, studies found no differences between COAs and non-COAs in alcohol-related problems; suicidal ideation;
personal control;
 
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perceived social support (Wright & Heppner, 1991); state anxiety; mood (Clair & Genest, 1992); social skills (Segrin &
Menees, 1995); social maladjustment (Dinning & Berk, 1989); personality traits of expressiveness, alienation, and
defensiveness (Havey & Dodd, 1993); object relations deficits, compulsive behavior (Hadley, Holloway, & Mallinckrodt,
1993); or depression (Reich, Earls, Frankel, & Shayka, 1993). The list of such studies is too long and the breadth of
dependent variables too extensive to dismiss these findings to sampling error or other artifacts. Such findings are
interpretable as good news for the COA. Although alcoholic parents raise children with psychosocial problems of their
own, this is not a deterministic relationship. Researchers are beginning to note that COAs are a complex and
heterogenous population, and dysfunction may be more evident in those COAs seeking attention through self-help groups
and professional contacts (Hinson, Becker, Handal, & Katz, 1993; Sheridan & Green, 1993). In addition, some models of
the influence of parental alcoholism on children's adjustment suggest that variables, such as marital strain, social
isolation, role reversals, and medical problems, for example, moderate this relationship (Seilhamer & Jacob, 1990).

Eating Disorders
The American Psychiatric Association recognizes two distinct subtypes of eating disorders: anorexia nervosa and bulimia
nervosa (DSM-IV; American Psychiatric Association, 1994). Obesity is currently considered more of a medical condition
than a mental health problem. The defining features of anorexia nervosa include a refusal to maintain a normal body
weight, an intense fear of gaining weight, and a disturbance in body-image perception. Bulimia nervosa is defined by
recurrent episodes of uncontrolled binge eating, inappropriate compensatory behaviors to control weight gain (e.g., self-
induced vomiting, and misuse of laxatives or diuretics), and an undue influence of body shape and weight on self-
evaluations. A chief difference between the two disorders is that individuals with bulimia nervosa are able to maintain
their body weight at or above normally prescribed levels. Similar to depression and alcoholism, this is a disorder with a
lethal component. The long-term mortality for those afflicted with eating disorders is estimated to be over 10%
(American Psychiatric Association, 1994). Descriptions of these disorders in the DSM-IV contain references to
interpersonal problems. Associated features of Anorexia Nervosa include social withdrawal and diminished interest in
sex. Episodes of binge eating associated with Bulimia Nervosa are often triggered by interpersonal stressors.
 
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Research on interpersonal relationships and eating disorders are typical of the work on interpersonal relationships and,
more generally, mental health. The recognition of some type of relational difficulty associated with the disorder predates
current investigations by at least a century (Laseque, 1873). One of Laseque's more notable contributions was the
suggestion of parentectomyhospitalization of the patients to remove them from exacerbating parental forces. Family
relationships, in particular, have been a focal point of this line of work (see Kog & Vandereycken, 1985; Vandereycken,
Kog, & Vanderlinden, 1989; Waller & Calam, 1994; Wonderlich, 1992, for reviews). Finally, the proliferation of studies
on this associated feature of eating disorders is particularly evident in the past 25 years.
In a recent longitudinal investigation, 51 diagnosed anorexics were followed for a period of 5 years (Gillberg, Rastam, &
Gillberg, 1994). One of the most notable features of those who did not recover over the course of the investigation (53%)
was unsatisfactory family relationships and problems making personal contacts outside the family. Findings such as these
are suggestive of the important role played by social relationships in the course of the disorder.
Dysfunctional Family Relationships and Processes
Interest in the interpersonal relationships of people with eating disorders focused largely, but not exclusively, on family
relationships. The work of Minuchin and associates was at the forefront of this approach (Minuchin, Rosman, & Baker,
1978). These authors observed dysfunctional patterns of interaction among families with an anorexic patient. Their
interactions, which often minimize conflict and adaptability, were argued to be entwined with the symptoms of the
disorder.
Family relationships continue to receive a great deal of attention by those who seek to explain the origins and course of
eating disorders (e.g., Strober & Humphrey, 1987; Wonderlich, 1992). Examples of this can be found in the
investigations on family cohesion and adaptability. Systems-oriented researchers emphasized family adaptability and
cohesion as two dimensions of family relationships that are crucial to healthy family functioning, provided that neither are
too extreme (Olson, 1993). A series of recent studies indicate that eating disorders are associated with perceptions of low
family cohesion (Blouin, Zuro, & Blouin, 1990; Humprey, 1986; Steiger, Puentes-Neuman, & Leung, 1991; Waller,
Slade, & Calam, 1990). Although this finding is relatively stable among child and parent reports of family cohesiveness
(e.g., Attie & Brooks-Gunn, 1989; Waller et al. 1990), eating disordered children give lower ratings to their family's
cohesiveness than do their parents (Dare, le Grange, Eisler, & Rutherford, 1994). Regardless of which family member's
perception is actually correct,
 
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the fact that the parent and child with an eating disorder differ in their view of the family's cohesiveness is perhaps itself
diagnostically significant.
Investigations of family adaptability yielded less consistent results than those of cohesion. Some evidence indicates a
negative association between family adaptability and symptoms of eating disorders (e.g., Dare et al., 1994; Waller et al.,
1990). However, a study by Humphrey (1986) found more chaos, less organization, and more poorly defined boundaries
in the familyall suggestive of greater adaptabilityamong patients with eating disorders. However, in most studies, the
families appeared to be extreme in their adaptability (either too much or too little), indicating potentially detrimental
family relations.
As in schizophrenia, family EE is beginning to emerge as an important family process variable in the eating disorders
literature (e.g., LeGrange, Eisler, Dare, & Hodes, 1992; van Furth et al., 1996). The van Furth et al. investigation
indicated that aspects of maternal expressed emotion during family interactions with eating disordered patients explained
28% to 34% of the variance in the patients' eventual outcome and response to therapy. The extent to which mothers made
openly critical comments during the family interaction assessment was a stronger predictor of patients' outcomes than a
host of other impressive predictors such as premorbid body weight, duration of illness, body mass index, and age at onset.
Other family process variables that were indicated in the eating disorders phenomena include disturbed affective
expression (Garfinkel et al., 1983), excessive parental overprotectivness (Calam, Waller, Slade, & Newton, 1990; Rhodes
& Kroger, 1992), and excessive parental control (Ahmad, Waller, & Verduyn, 1994; Wonderlich, Ukestad, & Perzacki,
1994). This later variable has particular significance in that the symptoms of eating disorders may be an overt
manifestation of a struggle for control. Although the locus of this struggle may be with the parents, there is reason to
believe that it may extend to others with whom the anorexic or bulimic is in a relationship.
Mother-Daughter Relationships
The ratio of females to males suffering from anorexia is approximately 10 to 1 (Lucas, Beard, O'Fallon, & Kurland,
1988). This may be due to the greater concerns with body image, dieting, and weight control among women compared to
men (Hsu, 1989). Perhaps owing to the widely held importance of the relationship with the same-sex parent in a child's
development, there has been a great deal of attention granted to mother-daughter relationships among anorexics. Girls
with eating disorders have been known to describe their mothers as overprotective (e.g.,
 
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Rhodes & Kroger, 1992) and less caring (Palmer, Oppenheimer, & Marshall, 1988). In light of such findings, it is not
surprising to discover that mothers of eating disordered daughters express a desire for greater family cohesion than what
they currently perceive (Pike & Rodin, 1991). A group of eating disordered young women retrospectively reported
maternal relations that involved more emotional coldness, indifference, and rejection, compared to a sample of controls
(Rhodes & Kroger, 1992).
Some evidence suggests that dietary restraint may be passed on from mother to daughter. Hill, Weaver, and Blundell
(1990) found an r = .68 correlation between mothers' dietary restraint and that of their adolescent daughters. In another
investigation, mothers' satisfaction with their body sizes correlated r = .77 with that of their daughters (Evans & le
Grange, 1995). This particular sample of mothers had a history of eating disorders.
A more sinister view of the mother-daughter relationship emerges from those investigations of mothers' attitudes toward
their daughters' body image. Mothers of eating disordered girls in one study thought that their daughters ought to lose
significantly more weight than mothers of a group of noneating disorders girls (Pike & Rodin, 1991). Sadly, these same
mothers rated their daughters as significantly less attractive than the daughters rated themselves. This is particularly
amazing given that people with eating disorders typically have low self-esteem and a negative body image (Attie &
Brooks-Gunn, 1989), and hence, are unlikely to inflate ratings of their own attractiveness. Data provided by mothers in
an interview study indicate that mothers of bulimics were more controlling and held higher expectations for their
daughters than control mothers (Sights & Richards, 1984). The effects of being in a relationship with a mother prone to
such negative and excessive evaluation could be extremely caustic for an adolescent girl (see, e.g., Pierce & Wardle,
1993).
It should be noted that the attention granted to mothers of eating disordered children has been criticized by feminist
scholars as ''mother-blaming" (Rabinor, 1994). Rabinor, for example, argued that the tendency to see mothers as causally
related to childrens' problems is a legacy of the psychoanalytic school that overemphasized mothers' roles and devalued
the influence of fathers. At the same time, however, psychodynamically oriented theorists argue that many eating
disordered girls use food as a means of fighting a battle (both interpersonally and intrapsychically) with an
overprotective, but nonempathic, mother (Beattie, 1988). The data on mothers' roles in the pathogenesis of eating
disorders are alluring. Whether they represent a disrespectful and misguided focus or a theoretically and etiologically
meaningful domain of inquiry will best be resolved through future empirical investigation, particularly with comparative
collateral data from fathers.
 
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Comorbidity with Other Mental Health Problems
Given the often disturbed parent-child relationships associated with anorexia and bulimia, it is not surprising that a
number of other mental health problems tend to covary with the disorder. Chief among these are depression (Blouin et
al., 1990; Wonderlich & Swift, 1990b), borderline personality disorder (Waller, 1994; Wonderlich & Swift, 1990a;
Wonderlich et al., 1994), and substance abuse (Watts & Ellis, 1992). It is important to note that these related mental
health problems may in some cases be secondary to the eating disorder and more strongly associated with poor family
relationships than the eating disorder per se (see, e.g., Head & Williamson, 1990). The elevated incidence of borderline
personality disorder among anorexic and/or bulimic patients, which runs as high as 40%, is also notable in that symptoms
of this disorder include difficulties with personal relationships, poor anger control, impulsivity, and affective instability.
This suggests that eating disorders reside in a nomological network that also holds problematic interpersonal relationships
and functioning in close proximity.
Disturbances in Nonfamilial Relationships
As noted earlier, not all research on the interpersonal relationships of people with eating disorders focused on the family
context. The personal relationships of eating disordered patients also appear to be problematic (e.g., Herzog, Pepose,
Norman, & Rigotti, 1985). O'Mahony and Hollwey (1995) recently conducted an intriguing study in which they
compared interpersonal problems of 31 anorexic patients to those of 105 women who had an occupation or hobby that
stressed physical conditioning and appearance (e.g., dance, athletics, or professional models) as well as 96 women from
the general public. The anorexic group in this study scored significantly higher on a measure of loneliness than either of
the comparison groups. In addition, the correlation between loneliness and eating problems was higher in the anorexic
group (r = .65) than did either the weight-concerned group (r = .47) or the general public (r = .28).
A study of bulimic women indicates that such individuals perceive less social support from friends as well as family
members (Grissett & Norvell, 1992). These women felt less socially competent than did a group of controls in a variety
of social situations, particularly those that involved seeking out social encounters and forming close relationships with
others. Some of these interpersonal problems stem from distorted views of personal relationships by people with eating
disorders. Some evidence
 
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indicates that characteristics of eating disorders are positively associated with a possessive, dependent love style and
negatively associated with a relatively more healthy, passionate, and friendship-based love style (Raciti & Hendrick,
1992). Taken as a whole, currently available evidence paints an equally disturbed view of the personal relationships of
people with eating disorders relative to their family relationships.
Theoretical Accounts of Problematic Social Relationships in Eating Disorders
The role of parental, particularly maternal, modeling in the etiology of eating disorders was highlighted by several writers
(e.g., Silverstein & Perlick, 1995). Social Learning Theory (Bandura, 1977) indicates that people can learn behaviors
through imitation of a model. This process of learning is enhanced when, among other features, the model is perceived to
hold high status and is similar to the target. Each of these conditions is in tact in the typical mother-daughter relationship.
Findings reviewed earlier indicate that daughters' concerns with dieting and body image are strongly associated with
those of their mothers (see also Paxton et al., 1991). Mothers of eating disordered daughters often have symptoms of
eating disorders themselves. According to Social Learning theory, girls observe their mothers' restrictive eating behaviors
and imitate them, perhaps because they perceive that their mothers were rewarded for such dieting. No student of
communication could ever rightfully overlook the possibility that the media also plays a powerful role in this process of
social learning, whereby unusually thin and attractive models are commonly depicted as the recipients of social rewards.
Psychodynamically oriented theories (including Object Relations and Attachment theories) continue to occupy a
conspicuous presence in the eating disorders-family relations literature (e.g., Beattie, 1988; Dolan, Lieberman, Evans, &
Lacey, 1990; Rhodes & Kroger, 1992). These accounts emphasize the symbolic significance of food in the adolescent
girl's struggle for control in her relationship with her mother. Abuse of food is seen as a means of covertly expressing
dissatisfaction with the mother-daughter relationship. Refusing to eat food represents a rejection of the mother's
overprotectiveness and overinvolvement in the child's life. Rhodes and Kroger (1992) contributed further to this approach
by suggesting that the adolescent girl with an eating disorder is struggling with a second separation-individuation
process, similar to that which infants are hypothesized to experience in their relationships with their mothers. They
present some supportive data indicating that eating disordered women had higher levels of separation anxiety and lower
healthy separation scores, while experi-
 
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encing greater maternal overprotectiveness than their nondisordered counterparts.
Among current approaches to understanding the role of the family in eating disorders, perhaps the most widely accepted
is a variant of the diathesis-stress model. According to this model, some people harbor a predisposition, or diathesis to
develop a mental health problem. These predispositions are latent and range from biological markers to early childhood
learning experiences, to cognitive vulnerabilities. When such individuals experience a significant degree of stress, this
diathesis develops into full blown distress or disorder. This position draws heavily on the literature that documents
disturbances in personality traits and temperaments associated with bulimia and/or anorexia (e.g., Brookings & Wilson,
1994; Steiger, Stotland, Trottier, & Ghadirian, 1996; Vitousek & Manke, 1994). These pathological traits may be passed
on from the parent to child (Steiger et al., 1996) and create a predisposition or vulnerability to the eating disorder. The
ultimate manifestation of the eating disorder is thought to be triggered by (among other things) disturbed family relations
(e.g., Strober & Humphrey, 1987). Thus, it is the interaction of predisposing traits and temperaments, along with
problematic family and social relationships that ultimately bring about the eating disorder.

Conclusion
The mental health problems of schizophrenia, depression, loneliness, alcoholism, and eating disorders all share a common
correlate: problems with interpersonal relationships. For some problems, such as schizophrenia, depression, loneliness,
and perhaps eating disorders, the problematic relationships appear to antedate the disorder. At the same time, there is
some evidence to indicate that the symptoms of schizophrenia, depression, alcoholism, and eating disorders may
themselves disrupt interpersonal relationships.
When one considers, at a more general level, the literature on interpersonal relationships and mental health problems, it is
reasonable to conclude that the two influence each other in a recursive fashion. Interpersonal relationships that are
dissatisfying, violent, emotionally distant, bizarre, and abusive can easily precipitate mental health problems. Evidence
reviewed earlier clearly shows that living with a depressed, alcoholic, schizophrenic, and so on. individual is taxing.
Dealing with their chronic symptoms, complaining, aggressive behavior, struggles for interpersonal control, dysphoric
behavior, delusional speech, and the uncertainty of their
 
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mood states can stress even the most stable personal relationships. Thus, there is a significant potential for a downward
psychosocial spiral whenever mental health problems or significant relationship problems exist. The two are so strongly
linked that one is often an inevitability given the other. This may explain why interpersonally oriented therapeutic
regimes are used to treat some psychological problems (e.g., Jacobson & Bussod, 1983; Weissman, Klerman,
Rounsaville, Chevron, & Neu, 1982).
A phenomenon that emerged repeatedly in every mental health problem reviewed in this chapter is problematic family
relations. Dysfunctional relations in the family of origin while growing up appear to contribute to a wide variety of
mental health problems. Our society as a whole typically holds a very positive view of family relations. However,
findings reviewed earlier clearly indicate that there is a dark side (or dark sides) of family relations (see also Stafford &
Dainton, 1994). When they entail too much cohesion or adaptability, overprotectiveness, intrusiveness, and are marked
with communication deviance, high EE, neglect, or rejection, very serious mental health problems result. Although
scientists have known for decades that the family can be a breeding ground for mental health problems, the general
public appears less aware or less willing to accept this fact.
There is a remarkable similarity in the interpersonal correlates of the metal health problems reviewed in this chapter
(e.g., problematic family interaction and dissatisfying personal relationships). At the same time, there is a pronounced
dissimilarity in the symptoms and defining features of these various disorders. Perhaps the most likely metatheoretical
account of the relationship between these different disorders and similar interpersonal correlates can be found in the
diathesis-stress models (e.g., Abramson, Alloy, & Metalsky, 1988; Monroe & Simons, 1991).
Clearly, disturbed and barren family and personal relationships constitute a significant stressor for most people. At the
same time, a subset of the population harbors a diathesis or predisposition to develop a mental health problem. When
these individuals experience significant stressorsthat may be interpersonal in naturesymptoms of the disorder begin to
emerge. The dysfunctional interpersonal environment surely serves as a breeding ground for further development and
worsening of the symptoms.
The key to explaining the similar interpersonal features and differing mental health outcomes lies in the proposition that
differing predispositions that interact with the same type of stressor (i.e., destructive interpersonal relationships) leads to
differing mental health outcomes. The person who harbors a diathesis for developing schizophrenia may in fact
experience the disorder after prolonged exposure to an overintrusive and conflictual family environment. On the other
hand, a person who has a
 
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vulnerability to eating disorders may ultimately experience this type of problem as a result of exposure to a very similar
family environment. Likewise, two different people might react to dissatisfying social relationships with depression in
one case and alcoholism in another, depending on the particular diathesis that each retains.
Because interpersonal problems are not always causally involved in cases of mental health problems, it should be noted
that different mental health problems lead to similar negative interpersonal consequences. This is because the symptoms
of psychological distress repel and/or stress other people who are in contact with the mentally ill individual. Most people
react negatively to those who are experiencing mental illnessbe it schizophrenia, depression, or alcoholism.
Finally, one might wonder if there is a bright side to any of these problems in the midst of what is otherwise obvious
negativity and misery. Bearing in mind the provisional nature of conclusions based on anecdotal data, there appears to be
an elevated incidence of problems such as depression, loneliness, and alcoholism among history's greatest artists. An
optimist might suggest that out of mental anguish and concomitant disruption of social relationships comes at least
occasional creativity, motivation, and insight. For the problem of depression, considerable scientific evidence indicates
that many perceptions, including those that are social in nature, are more accurate among the depressed relative to those
who are not depressed (Alloy & Abramson, 1988; Dykman, Horowitz, Abramson, & Usher, 1991; Lewinsohn, Mischel,
Chaplin, & Barton, 1980). Nondepressed people tend to overestimate the quality of their performances, degree of control
over events, their social skills, and so forth, whereas depressed people appear to have more realistic views. Because of
their lack of this illusory, ego-enhancing bias, Alloy and Abramson (1979) described depressed people as "sadder but
wiser." Regardless of the potential positive aspects associated with these disorders, it is doubtful that those afflicted with
them find these to be much consolation or solace.
Human beings are among the most social animals on the planet. By definition, this means that we treat with great
importance, and are strongly influenced by, interpersonal relationships. The psychological importance that we attach to
these relationships can easily mutate into a full-blown psychological disorder when these relationships with family,
friends, co-workers, and spouses are distressed and maladaptive. Although other contributory mechanisms to mental
health problems such as genetics, neurochemical disturbances, cognitive and behavioral deficits, and environmental
stress, are undeniable, the inseparable tie between problematic interpersonal relationships and mental health problems is
sure to remain as long as humans maintain their social orientation.
 
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Acknowledgments
Thanks go to Heather Bunker for assistance in identifying sources for this review and Eve Lynn Nelson for helpful
comments on an earlier version of this chapter.
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VI
MUSINGS
 
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12
Investigating the Positive and Negative Sides of Personal Relationships: Through a Lens Darkly?
Karen S. Rook
University of California, Irvine

Personal Relationships and Emotional Health: Paradoxical Findings

A paradox exists in research that seeks to understand how our relationships with friends, family members, and others
influence our health and well-being. On the one hand, it is abundantly clear that most people are strongly motivated to
form close relationships (Baumeister & Leary, 1995) and that they care deeply about the quality of their relationships.
Moreover, personal relationships appear to represent a critically important source of psychological well-being. For
example, when Klinger (1977) asked people to indicate what gave their lives the greatest sense of meaning, most
responded with a reference to their personal relationships; few cited work or other life domains as a centrally important
source of meaning. Research on the perceived quality of life confirms that the caliber of people's personal relationships is
a more powerful predictor of their happiness and life satisfaction than is the caliber of their lives in most other domains
(Argyle, 1987; Campbell, Converse, & Rodgers, 1976). An extensive body
 
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of evidence documents the important role that others play in helping to limit the toll that stressful life events take on
emotional and physical health (e.g., Cohen & Wills, 1985). Research on loneliness and bereavement also provides ample
evidence of the anguish, longing, and despair experienced by people who either lack or have lost close relationships
(Peplau & Perlman, 1982; Stroebe, Stroebe, & Hansson, 1993). In addition, large, well-controlled prospective studies
indicate that people who have few social ties experience an increased risk of morbidity and mortality, and this increased
risk cannot be attributed to potentially confounded factors, such as socioeconomic status (SES), health-risk behaviors,
use of health services, or prior health status (Burman & Margolin, 1992; Cohen, 1988; House, Landis, & Umberson,
1988; House, Umberson, & Landis, 1988).
On the other hand, it is clear that personal relationships can function as a source of conflict, strain, and disappointment,
and troubled personal relationships threaten health and well-being. For example, complaints about personal relationships
have been found to be among the most common concerns expressed by individuals seeking psychotherapy (Horowitz,
1986; Pinsker, Nepps, Redfield, & Winston, 1985), and criticism and emotional overinvolvement by family members
have been linked to an increased risk of relapse among recently discharged psychiatric patients (see review by Segrin,
chap. 11, this volume). Efforts to provide social support to people experiencing major stressful events often backfire,
aggravating (rather than alleviating) the recipient's difficulties (Dakof & Taylor, 1990; Dunkel-Schetter, 1984; Wortman
& Lehman, 1985). Studies of common everyday stressors suggest that those of an interpersonal nature (e.g., demands
from others and conflicts and tensions in one's relationships) arouse more distress than do other kinds of stressors
(Bolger, DeLongis, Kessler, & Schilling, 1989; Veroff, Douvan, & Kulka, 1981; Zautra, Burleson, Matt, Roth, &
Burrows, 1994). In addition, the adverse effects of interpersonal stressors persist over several days, whereas the effects of
other stressors dissipate more quickly (Bolger et al., 1989). Tensions in close relationships have been associated not only
with worse psychological health (Segrin, chap. 11, this volume) but also with worse physiological outcomes, such as
increased cardiovascular reactivity and depressed immune functioning (e.g., Ewart, Taylor, Kraemer, & Agras, 1991;
Kiecolt-Glaser et al., 1993). The chapters in this volume, and in an earlier companion volume (Cupach & Spitzberg,
1994), present compelling evidence of the unintended (or sometimes intended) harm that people can inflict on those who
are close to them.
Thus, although several different lines of research have documented the rewards and benefits of social relationships,
several other lines of research have documented their costs or hazards. This apparent paradox has stimu-
 
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lated the emergence of a small but growing literature that focuses on the question of whether positive or negative aspects
of personal relationships have greater significance for human health and well-being (see Rook, 1992a). This literature has
begun to coalesce around a dominant methodological approach that typically entails the use of survey methods
(questionnaires and telephone- or in-person interviews) to collect self-report measures of emotional health, supportive
social interactions (or ties), and problematic social interactions (or ties). The associations between these interpersonal
variables and health-related outcomes, such as depression, are typically examined cross-sectionally, using multiple
regression methods or other analytic methods that assume linear associations. These analyses often include controls for
gender, marital status, income, physical health, and personality factors (e.g, extraversion or neuroticism) that might
influence the associations of interest. A few researchers have examined these associations longitudinally (e.g., Finch &
Zautra, 1992; Holahan, Moos, Holahan, & Brennan, 1997; Lakey, Tardiff, & Drew, 1994; Lepore, 1992; Pagel, Erdly, &
Becker, 1987; Vinokur & Van Ryn, 1993); other researchers have supplemented participants' self-reports with reports
obtained from significant others (Abbey, Andrews, & Halman, 1995; Vinokur & Vinokur-Kaplan, 1990).
Without oversimplifying the findings that have emerged thus far from this literature, it is fair to say that many studies
have yielded evidence of what has been referred to as a negativity effectevidence that negative social exchanges exhibit
stronger or more reliable associations with well-being than do positive social exchanges (see Ingersoll-Dayton, Morgan,
& Antonucci, 1997; Rook, 1990b, 1992a). For example, in an early study that documented a negativity effect, Rook
(1984) asked a sample of elderly women about the extent to which various members of their social networks engaged in
positive exchanges, such as providing support and companionship, as well as negative exchanges, such as taking
advantage of them or invading their privacy. Analyses that included controls for the women's age, education, and
physical health suggested that the negative exchanges significantly detracted from their morale, whereas the positive
exchanges only weakly or nonsignificantly contributed to morale.
This pattern has been replicated in cross-sectional studies based on larger, representative samples (e.g., Ingersoll-Dayton
et al., 1997; Schuster, Kessler, & Aseltine, 1990) and in longitudinal studies that have included controls for baseline
psychological functioning (e.g., Pagel et al., 1987; Vinokur & Van Ryn, 1993). The longitudinal studies help to address
the concern that the adverse impact of negative exchanges represents a mere artifact of participants' state of psychological
adjustment. For example, depressed individuals might be more prone to perceive or precipitate
 
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negative exchanges with others. Pagel et al. (1987) used a short-term, longitudinal design in a study of caregivers to
determine whether changes in negative social exchanges predicted changes in caregivers' depression levels. Controlling
for initial depression levels and for age, sex, and health status, they found that participants who reported an increase in
negative exchanges over a 10-month period also reported an increase in depression; no parallel finding emerged for
changes in positive exchanges. Further analyses revealed that participants' initial depression levels did not predict their
later exposure to problematic exchanges. Similarly, initial mental health did not predict subsequent exposure to negative
exchanges in longitudinal studies of unemployed individuals (Vinokur & Van Ryn, 1993) or elderly widows (Morgan,
Neal, & Carder, in press).
Moreover, negativity effects have been documented in relation to physiological, as well as psychological, outcomes. For
example, Kiecolt-Glaser et al. (1993) assessed changes in immune functioning among newly married couples engaged in
a discussion of marital problems. They found that hostile behaviors exhibited during the discussion predicted decrements
in immunological functioning and elevated blood pressure during the next 24 hours, whereas supportive behaviors were
not related to either immunological or blood pressure changes. Ewart et al. (1991) similarly found that clinically
significant increases in blood pressure during a marital problem-solving task were related to hostile behaviors, but were
unrelated to supportive behaviors.
This pattern of findings across a number of studies has led to an emerging conclusion that the negative aspects of
personal relationships are more consequential for health and well-being than are the positive aspects (Rook, 1992a,
1992b). This conclusion has gained credence from parallel findings in other literatures that have documented the potent
effects of negative information and events (e.g., Cacioppo, Gardner, & Bernston, 1997; Taylor, 1991). For example,
research on life stress has shown consistently that negative life events detract from well-being, whereas positive life
events rarely have the corresponding effect of enhancing well-being (Taylor, 1991). In a related vein, stress researchers
have presented evidence that the potential loss of resources (material, interpersonal, or intrapersonal) is more emotionally
and motivationally arousing than the potential acquisition of resources (Hobfoll, 1989). Research on person perception
indicates that negative traits are given more weight than positive traits in the formation of overall impressions of others
(e.g., Skowronski & Carlston, 1989; Vonk, 1993). Similarly, studies of judgment under conditions of uncertainty indicate
that preference-inconsistent (negative) information is processed more deeply and exerts greater influence on judgments
and behavior than does preference-consistent (positive) information (e.g.,
 
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Ditto & Lopez, 1992). A substantial body of evidence also suggests that people exhibit an aversion to risk in decision-
making tasks; that is, potential losses are more influential than potential gains (Kahneman & Tversky, 1984).
Thus, negativity effects have been documented in nonsocial as well as social domains (see Kanouse & Hanson, 1972, for
an early review). The emergence of such effects across diverse literaturesusing quite diverse methodologies and
investigating diverse populationssuggests the possibility of common underlying dynamics. Indeed, it is the very
possibility that these diverse negativity effects share similar cognitive, emotional, and motivational underpinnings that has
prompted researchers to frame questions about the relative significance of positive versus negative interpersonal
experiences in terms that might otherwise seem perplexingly broad.
In view of these converging lines of research, interest in the darker side of social relationships, although not new, is
gaining momentum. The interest partly developed as a reaction against what is regarded as an unrealistically positive
view of social relationships that has tended to dominate social scientists' writings (Duck, 1994; Heller, 1979; Spitzberg &
Cupach, this volume). If the lens through which personal relationships were once viewed was too rosy (Duck, 1994;
Spitzberg & Cupach, this volume), it now appears to be turning a decidedly darker hue. This corrective emphasis is
understandable and may well lead to more balanced, integrated analyses of both the light and dark sides of social
relationships, as Duck (1994) and others (e.g., Coyne & DeLongis, 1986; Heller, 1979; Rook, 1990a, 1990b, 1992a) have
urged. Achieving a balanced view, however, requires that the empirical lens through which we scrutinize personal
relationships be free of distortion. The major premise of this chapter is that some methodological limitations, largely
overlooked, may have distorted the comparisons of positive and negative social exchanges in prior research. These
methodological limitations call into question the notion that negative exchanges are more consequential for health and
well-being than are positive exchanges.
The purpose of this chapter is to take a critical look at the evidence that has been mustered to date for negativity effects
and, in particular, to identify methodological problems that may have hampered efforts to evaluate the relative impact of
positive and negative experiences in personal relationships. A number of methodological requirements must be met in
order to conduct a fair evaluation of the relative effects of these positive and negative interpersonal experiences. These
requirements, and the implications of ignoring them, constitute the central focus of this chapter. This chapter emphasizes
methodological concerns that have not yet been widely discussed; other important concerns, such as the problems
 
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associated with self-report data or cross-sectional designs, have been discussed more fully elsewhere (e.g., Finch &
Zautra, 1992; Lepore, 1992; Rook, 1990a), including the chapters in this volume (e.g., Segrin, chap. 11, this volume;
Sillars, chap. 3, this volume). The final section summarizes recommendations for future research that flow from the
discussion of methodological problems.

Boundaries and Definitions

Before beginning, it is important to identify the boundaries that limit this analysis. It is also important to clarify at the
outset what is meant by the terms positive and negative social exchanges. The boundary conditions and definitional
issues are addressed below.
Boundaries of the Analysis
The literature to be discussed has focused primarily on what might be regarded as a class of "everyday" negative social
exchanges, such as criticism, demands, insensitivities, intrusions, and interference (e.g., Ruehlman & Karoly, 1991).
Thus, this work generally has examined a narrower range of negative interpersonal experiences than that considered in
this volume, which includes such disturbing experiences as jealous rages, fatal attractions, sexual coercion, and relational
obsession and stalking. It is possible, of course, that some research participants in the studies to be reviewed may have
had exactly such disturbing experiences in mind when they reported that members of their social networks invade their
privacy or provoke their anger. In general, however, the findings that have emerged from this literature and the
methodological issues they raise should not be assumed to generalize to research on the darker and more deeply troubling
side of close relationships.
The impact of positive and negative exchanges in the work to be discussed has been gauged most often with reference to
emotional health outcomes, although similar patterns have emerged in studies of physical health outcomes. The
discussion in this chapter regarding the relative impact of positive and negative exchanges, therefore, is based primarily
on work that has examined psychological well-being. The patterns that have emerged from this work cannot be assumed
to generalize to other outcomes, such as relationship decisions and behaviors. In addition, this work has focused largely
on the psychological well-being of a focal person who is the target of others' positive and negative deeds. Unlike much of
the
 
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research reported in this volume (e.g., Guerro & Anderson, chap. 2; LePoire, Hallett, & Giles; Segrin, chap. 6; Canary &
Messman, chap. 5; Sillars, chap. 3; Spitzberg & Cupach, Introduction), this work generally has less to say about
reciprocal and contingent patterns of positive and negative exchange between two or more individuals.
Most of the work to be discussed has focused on nonclinical populations, although the interpersonal processes and
outcomes that characterize nonclinical populations may differ less than is typically assumed from those that characterize
clinical populations (personal communication, Henderson, May 10, 1990; Stafford & Dainton, 1994). Efforts to
extrapolate from the work to be reviewed to clinical populations should be undertaken with caution.
Finally, the work that is the focus of this chapter typically has evaluated the effects of positive and negative exchanges on
well-being by aggregating the negative and positive exchanges that occur in an entire social network (e.g., Ingersoll-
Dayton et al., 1997; Pagel et al., 1987; Revenson, Schiaffino, Majerovitz, & Gibofsky, 1991; Rook, 1984) or in
subgroups of the network, such as family members or friends (e.g., Abbey, Abramis, & Caplan, 1985; Holahan et al.,
1997; Schuster et al., 1990). Such aggregated data have relevance to this volume because analyses indicate that the
network members most likely to be named as sources of troublesome interactions are spouses, family members, friends,
and neighbors (e.g., Rook, 1984). With some exceptions (e.g., Manne & Zautra, 1989), however, this work generally tells
us less than does the work presented in this and the previous volume about the dynamics of problematic exchanges that
occur in specific dyadic relationships.
Definitional Issues
Following Vinokur and Van Ryn (1993), positive social exchanges are defined as actions by members of a person's
network that involve the expression of positive affect toward or positive evaluations of the person as well as efforts to
facilitate the focal person's pursuit of personal goals. This includes the various types of emotional support and assistance
that social support theorists have emphasized (e.g., House, 1981; Wills, 1985) as well as the affection, humor, and shared
activities that others have emphasized (e.g., Bolger & Eckenrode, 1991; Buunk, 1990; Rook, 1987). Negative social
exchanges are defined as actions by members of a focal person's social network that involve the expression of negative
affect toward the person, devaluation of the person's worth, or actions that undermine the person's pursuit of personal
goals (Vinokur & Van Ryn, 1993). This emphasis excludes some of the conventional costs of relation-
 
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ships that have been discussed by social exchange theorists (Homans, 1974; Thibaut & Kelley, 1959), such as time,
money, and material goods that may be required to maintain a relationship or the displacement of opportunities to engage
in alternative activities. This chapter concentrates, instead, on actions that people tend to regard as misdeeds or
transgressions and that customarily cause distress. This admittedly broad definition subsumes instances of clumsy but
well-intended support or miscarried support (Coyne, Ellard, & Smith, 1990; Coyne, Wortman, & Lehman, 1988;
Wortman & Lehman, 1985), but encompasses other kinds of troublesome social exchanges as wellsuch as criticism and
demands.

Comparing the Impact of Positive and Negative Social Exchanges: Methodological Issues
The sections that follow discuss a number of methodological issues that may have influenced the conclusions derived
from studies that have sought to compare the effects of positive and negative social exchanges on psychological well-
being. These issues include potential problems related to the samples studied, the assessment of positive and negative
social exchanges, the choice of outcomes used to gauge the effects of these exchanges, and the analysis and interpretation
of data regarding these effects.
Sampling
Levels of Stress in the Sample. Some researchers have suggested that the impact of positive and negative social
exchanges on emotional well-being may depend on the extent to which study participants are experiencing life stress
(Rook, 1990a; Shinn, Lehmann, & Wong, 1984). The stress-buffering hypothesis posits that social support exerts the
greatest effects on well-being among stressed individuals, presumably because it encourages more benign appraisals of
the stressful situation and facilitates more effective coping responses (e.g., House, 1981; Wills, 1985). Indeed, strong
versions of the stress-buffering hypothesis suggest that social support exhibits a weak or nonsignificant association with
well-being among nonstressed individuals (Cobb, 1976). A parallel stress-exacerbation (or stress-amplification)
hypothesis has been posited, which predicts that conflictual social interaction has the greatest influence on well-being
among stressed individuals (Rook, 1990a, 1992a; Shinn et al., 1984), presumably because it adds to the individuals'
existing emotional burdens, drains coping resources, and undermines self-esteem.
 
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Ingersoll-Dayton and her colleagues (Ingersoll-Dayton et al., 1997) recently argued that many of the studies that have
yielded evidence of a negativity effect were conducted with samples experiencing high levels of life stress. For example,
negativity effects have emerged in studies of elderly widows (Rook, 1984), spousal or familial caregivers of individuals
with Alzheimer's disease (Fiore, Becker, & Coppel, 1983; Kiecolt-Glaser et al., 1988; Pagel et al., 1987), victims of
sexual assault (Davis, Brickman, & Baker, 1991), pregnant adolescents (Barrera, 1981), and unemployed persons
(Vinokur & Van Ryn, 1993). Ingersoll-Dayton et al. (1997) suggested that the results of such studies, by virtue of being
based on vulnerable groups, may have exaggerated the evidence for negativity effects. They tested this idea in a large,
representative sample of middle-aged and older adults by comparing the effects of positive and negative social exchanges
among more-versus less-stressed individuals (defined by a median split on a measure of stressful events experienced
within the past five years). Their analyses revealed evidence of a negativity effect only among the more-stressed
individuals; among the less-stressed individuals, both positive and negative exchanges were significantly related to well-
being.
Other studies that have examined the influence of life stress, although in nonrepresentative samples, have yielded a
different pattern of findings. In a study of older adults, Okun, Melichar, and Hill (1990) found that negative interactions
were strongly associated with psychological distress, regardless of the participants' level of life stress (measured in terms
of recent daily stresses). Similarly, Finch and his colleagues (Finch, Okun, Barrera, Zautra, & Reich, 1989) found that
problematic social ties were strongly associated with emotional health not only among elderly individuals who were
recently bereaved or physically disabled, but also among matched controls who had not experienced recent life stress.
Negativity effects have emerged, moreover, in samples that could not be categorized on a priori grounds as distinctly
stressed, such as college students (Abbey et al., 1985) and married couples (Schuster, Kessler, & Aseltine, 1990). Finally,
although Ingersoll-Dayton et al. (1997) were correct in noting that negativity effects have been documented in some
studies that have focused on vulnerable groups, the stress-buffering hypothesis suggests that it is exactly such groups that
are likely to benefit from social support. By this logic, positivity effects should be as likely to emerge as negativity
effects in vulnerable groups.
Thus, neither the available evidence nor the existing state of theorizing about the conditions that create susceptibility to
negativity effects allow us to estimate with confidence the extent to which the samples studied to date have yielded
exaggerated evidence of negativity effects. This possibility warrants attention in future research, however, and
researchers
 
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should be prepared to consider the implications of sampling procedures that yield samples with skewed distributions of
life stress.
Levels of Social Integration in the Sample. The levels of social integration represented in a sample also have implications
for the results of efforts to compare the effects of positive versus negative social exchanges. In much of the research
conducted to date, true social isolates are unlikely to have been included in the samples studied. Socially isolated
individuals are difficult to locate and to recruit to research projects (e.g., Pilisuk & Minkler, 1980), yet comparison of
isolates and nonisolates are more likely than other comparisons to reveal the benefits of social ties (a point discussed
more fully in a subsequent section; see also House, 1981). Statistical provisions for contrasting participants who cluster at
empirically defined ''low" versus "high" points in a distribution of social integration scores do not solve this problem if
the low point omits individuals who are truly isolated (cf. Finney, Mitchell, Cronkite, & Moos, 1984). Given the
difficulty of accessing and recruiting isolated individuals, this problem will not be easy to overcome in future research,
but the potential limitations of truncated sampling should be considered when inferences are derived about the impact of
positive versus negative social exchanges.
Assessment of Positive and Negative Exchanges
Adequacy of Domain Sampling. The adequacy with which the domains of positive and negative social exchanges are
sampled in a given study has implications for the evidence that emerges regarding negativity effects. Table 12.1 shows a
range of exchanges that could be sampled in each domain. (This table does not include serious interpersonal threats and
violations because, as noted earlier, the focus of this literature has primarily been on commonplace negative exchanges.)
Many of the existing studies appear to sample the negative domain fairly well, assessing a diverse set of negative
exchanges. In contrast, the assessment of positive exchanges has been less comprehensive, typically emphasizing
emotional and instrumental social support and excluding shared leisure and simple companionship, as shown in Table
12.1. The enjoyable, hedonic forms of social interaction make important, independent contributions to health and well-
being (e.g., Bolger & Eckenrode, 1991; Buunk, 1990; Rook, 1987; Thompson, Futterman, Gallagher-Thompson, Rose, &
Lovett, 1993), and their omission clearly can yield results that underestimate the effects of positive exchanges
Extremity. An unbiased comparison of the effects of positive and negative social exchanges also requires the two kinds of
exchanges assessed
 
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TABLE 12.1
Sampling of Positive and Negative Social Exchanges
Positive Exchanges Negative Exchanges
Denial of Support
Emotional support
Criticism
Appraisal support
Rejection
Informational support
Deception or betrayal
Instrumental support
Demands or control attempts
* Affection or intimacy
Interference
* Shared activities
Exploitation
* Shared storytelling or humor
Note. The Positive Exchanges (denoted with an asterik) are often omitted from
researchers' inventories.

to be of roughly equal extremity. Evidence of a negativity effect that is based on comparisons of extreme negative
exchanges (e.g., public ridicule) and mild positive exchanges (e.g., problem-solving discussions) would not be especially
compelling. Such a comparison is obviously likely to favor the conclusion that negative exchanges are more
consequential for well-being. The extremity, or intensity, of positive and negative stimuli has been a central concern in
other literatures in which negativity effects emerged, such as the person perception literature (Wojciszke, Brycz, &
Borkenau, 1993), but this has not been true in the literature on personal relationships. Although the work conducted to
date does not appear to have been plagued by systematic differences in the extremity of the positive and negative social
exchanges assessed, this problem may have been present to some extent and warrants greater vigilance.
Interestingly, studies of impression formation and decision making, in which negativity effects have emerged, indicate
that the disproportionate impact of negative stimuli is not simply due to their extremity (Skowronski, & Carlston, 1989);
that is, negative stimuli exert an effect that is independent of their extremity. This may hold true in the realm of personal
relationships as well (cf. Berscheid, 1983). It is difficult to determine this, however, without greater attention to the
extremity of the positive and negative relational experiences that are assessed. Efforts to equate the extremity of the
positive and negative exchanges studied does not mean that measures need to be forced into a degree of parallelism that
is artificial or that overlooks the "darker" relational experiences examined in several of the chapters in this volume. If
constructing parallel measures is unduly restrictive, concerns about extremity can be addressed by exercising care when
the positive and negative relational experiences are aggregated for statistical analysis and when inferences about their
relative effects are derived from these analyses.
Time Frames. The time frames specified or implied in measures of positive and negative exchanges are also likely to
influence the evidence
 
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that emerges for negativity effects. For example, consider the two different time frames implied in the wording of the
following items: "In the past week, did anyone act too busy or make excuses when you needed help?" "Does anyone tend
to act too busy or make excuses when you need help?" The latter phrasing, unlike the former, suggests a chronic or
recurring pattern of disregard. A serious problem would arise if the items assessing positive exchanges were largely
phrased in terms of discrete events or transactions, but the items assessing negative exchanges were phrased in terms of
recurring or chronic patterns. Doing so would clearly introduce a bias in favor of finding evidence of negativity effects.
A related asymmetry would arise if positive social exchanges were assessed in terms of potential transactions, but
negative exchanges were assessed in terms of actual transactions (e.g., Lepore, 1992; Rook, 1984). Many of the positive
exchanges assessed in this literature address study participants' access to various kinds of social support (a point that is
later explored more fully). As a result, items are often phrased in a way that asks participants to consider who they could
turn to for support in time of need. For example, participants might be asked "Is there anyone you could turn to if you
needed to discuss a personal problem?" The phrasing of items about negative exchanges, in contrast, often suggests
ongoing patterns of interaction (e.g., "Is there anyone who refuses to provide help when you need it?"). Access to others
with whom social exchanges have the potential to be enacted presumably have weaker effects on well-being than does
the actual enactment of such exchanges with others (see Sarason, Pierce, & Sarason, 1990; Sarason, Shearin, Pierce, &
Sarason, 1987; Turner, 1992, for an alternative view of the health-related effects of perceived versus received support).
Systematic asymmetries such as these in the phrasing of items used to assess positive versus negative social exchanges
compromise the validity of analyses designed to compare the effects of the two kinds of exchanges. Such asymmetries in
phrasing do not appear to be a rampant problem in the existing literature, but may have been present in some studies and,
accordingly, may have helped to inflate the evidence for negativity effects.
Assessment of Outcomes
Valence. A fair test of the relative importance of positive versus negative exchanges also requires attention to the choice
of outcome measures used to evaluate the effects of these exchanges. Many studies have examined outcomes that reflect
emotional distress, such as depression or anxiety (Abbey et al., 1985; Finch & Zautra, 1992; Fiore et al.,
 
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1983; Kiecott-Glaser et al., 1988, Lepore, 1992; Pagel et al., 1987; Revenson et al., 1991; Schuster et al., 1990).
Proponents of a two-factor theory of well-being, in contrast, have argued for a basic distinction between positive and
negative dimensions of psychological health (e.g., Diener, 1984; Lawton, 1983; Zautra & Reich, 1983). That is, these
theorists argue that emotional health is more than the absence of distress. They argue, further, that different causal factors
influence the positive and negative dimensions of emotional health (Lawton, 1983; Zautra & Reich, 1983). The factors
that contribute to happiness, for example, may differ from those that help to alleviate depression. Some researchers have
extrapolated from these theories to predict that positive and negative social exchanges are equally important, but for
different dimensions of emotional health (Finch et al., 1989; Ingersoll-Dayton et al., 1997). Specifically, they reason that
positive and negative social exchanges are linked to congruent dimensions of well-being, with positive social exchanges
predicting positive affect, for example, and negative social exchanges predicting negative affect (outcome-specific
effects). From this perspective, studies that link participants' interpersonal experiences only to negative aspects of
emotional health would tend to yield inflated estimates of the significance of negative experiences.
Only a few studies have incorporated this distinction in seeking to contrast the effects of positive versus negative social
exchanges, and these studies have yielded inconsistent results (Finch et al., 1989; Ingersoll-Dayton et al., 1997).
Ingersoll-Dayton et al. analyzed data from a national sample of adults aged 50 years and older. Their data set included
information about the respondents' supportive social interactions, troublesome interactions, and levels of positive and
negative affect. In analyses that controlled for respondents' demographic characteristics and health status, the researchers
found (as predicted) that positive interactions were related to positive affect but were not related to negative affect. The
reverse was true for negative interactions: They were related to negative affect but not to positive affect.
A somewhat different pattern of results emerged in a study by Finch and his colleagues (Finch et al., 1989) that assessed
older adults' positive social ties, negative social ties, and two aspects of adjustmentpsychological well-being (assessed
with a measure of perceived quality of life) and psychological distress (assessed with a measure of psychiatric
symptoms). The researchers expected positive social ties to be primarily related to psychological well-being and negative
social ties to be primarily related to psychological distress. The results only partially confirmed their expectations:
Positive ties were related solely to psychological well-being, but negative ties were related both to well-being and
distress. Finch et al.
 
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concluded that negative interactions are so salient to an individual that their effects spill across various affective domains
(a crossover effect).
To determine whether negativity effects, outcome-specific effects, or crossover effects are more common (Rook, 1992b),
researchers must assess positive and negative dimensions of emotional health as well as positive and negative aspects of
social network involvement. Only a limited number of studies have met these requirements thus far.
The suggestion that a differentiated conception of well-being yields fairer tests of the relative significance of positive and
negative exchanges need not be limited to distinguishing between positive and negative dimensions of emotional health,
but rather, may be extended to distinctions within these two broad dimensions. For example, some researchers have
argued that problem-focused support (such as helpful advice about a vexing personal problem) may be most relevant to
outcomes that reflect relief from distress (such as reduced anxiety) and preservation of self-esteem (e.g., Felton & Berry,
1992, Wills, 1985). Felton and Berry (1992) noted that such problem-focused support serves primarily "compensatory
functions or functions that offset stressful circumstances and the negative emotions that tend to accompany them" (p. 96).
The role of shared leisure and other forms of companionship, in contrast, is less remedial, and companionship may be
singularly important in sustaining or enhancing life satisfaction, happiness, and other positive outcomes (Argyle, 1987;
Rook, 1987). More generally, theoretically anchored distinctions among emotional health outcomes provide the basis for
more complex predictions about the associations between social network involvement and psychological functioning,
predictions that may guide us to a more even-handed search for positivity and negativity effects.
Stability. The stability of the outcomes assessed also has implications for the findings that have emerged to date.
Evidence suggests most people exhibit only modest shifts in psychological functioning over time (e.g., Costa et al., 1987;
Monroe & Johnson, 1992). That is, their psychological health generally fluctuates modestly around a fairly stable mean
level. For some, this relatively stable, personal level of functioning is marked by few symptoms of psychological distress,
whereas for others this personal level will be marked by numerous symptoms of more or less chronic distress. Access to
reliable social support in an earlier life stage may well operate, as attachment theorists (Bowlby, 1969) and others (e.g.,
Sarason et al., 1990; Sullivan, 1953) have argued, to help establish these personal mean levels of psychological health.
Negative social exchanges, in contrast, may play a greater role in accounting for fluctuations around these mean levels
(cf. Berscheid, 1983). If so, then the prevailing research strategies in this
 
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literature may be ill-equipped to detect the developmentally important, stabilizing function of supportive social bonds.
Moreover, some clinical outcomes of interest, such as depression, follow various trajectories of onset, development,
exacerbation, remission, and possible recurrence (Monroe & Johnson, 1992) that are not reflected in a person's score on a
measure of psychological health at one point in time. That is, the same score could indicate, for different people, any of
several qualitatively different states. For example, a score of 25 on a widely used measure of depressive symptoms, such
as the Center for Epidemiological Studies-Depression scale (Radloff, 1977), is often regarded as suggesting the presence
of clinically significant depression, but it is impossible to know from such a score alone whether this represents the first
onset of disorder, a recurrence of disorder, or an improving or deteriorating trajectory in an already-established disorder.
Positive and negative social exchanges may be differentially important in the onset versus maintenance of emotional
disorders, but prevailing research designs that indiscriminately mix together newly symptomatic and consistently
symptomatic individuals may fail to reveal such distinctive roles (Monroe & Johnson, 1992). Thus, greater attention to
the chronicity, or stability, of the emotional health outcomes under study and to the meaning of shifts in psychological
functioning over time might lead to different conclusions about the relative importance of positive and negative social
exchanges for emotional health (see Cohen, 1988, for a discussion of similar issues regarding the role of interpersonal
processes at different stages in the course of physical illness.)
Data Analysis and Interpretation
Nonlinear Associations. An important data analysis issue that has received little attention concerns the possibility of
nonlinear associations between the health-related outcome of interest and either positive or negative social exchanges
(Veiel, 1992). Some support researchers have argued that the association between levels of social support and
psychological health should be conceptualized and evaluated as a nonlinear association, with the greatest benefits of
support appearing when individuals who have no supportive relationships are compared with individuals who have at
least one such relationship (Coyne & DeLongis, 1986; House, 1981; Kahn & Antonucci, 1980). That is, a critical
threshold may exist beyond which increased levels of support contribute little to a person's psychological well-being.
This contrasts with the more conventional prediction of a simple linear association between positive social ties and
psychological health. A parallel critical threshold could be predicted (although with less certainty) regarding the effects
of negative social
 
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exchanges, such that the largest differences in emotional health would be observed in comparisons of individuals who
have no (or few) problematic social relationships with individuals who have one (or more) such relationships.
Few studies have tested for such nonlinear patterns (Finch & Zautra, 1992). This is worrisome because when researchers
have reported the distributions of positive and negative interactions in their samples, a sizable number of respondents
have disclaimed having any negative interactions with others. For example, in some studies of older adults, as many as
25% to 30% of the respondents have reported that they have no problematic interactions with members of their social
networks (e.g., Rook, 1984). In contrast, very few respondents report having no supportive interactions with members of
their networks. Higher figures have been reported in other studies, with as many as 58% or more of respondents
disavowing any problematic interactions (Okun, Melichar, & Hill, 1990).
These differences in the clustering of respondents at the low end of the distributions of positive and negative exchanges
could partly account for the finding that negative exchanges have a disproportionate impact on psychological functioning.
That is, the data collected in these studies may have included the critical threshold for negative exchanges (to the extent
that one exists), but may have excluded the critical threshold for positive exchanges. If so, this would not disconfirm the
significance of negative exchanges, but it would cast doubt on the inference that negative exchanges have more powerful
effects than do positive exchanges.
Cumulative Effects. Another important analytic issue concerns the interpretation of regression coefficients that emerge in
tests of positivity and negativity effects. Negativity effects are typically assumed to be present when the regression
coefficient linking negative social exchanges to an outcome of interest is significantly greater than the corresponding
coefficient linking positive social exchanges to the outcome. This pattern has been construed as indicating that negative
social interactions have a greater impact than do positive interactions (i.e., that a negativity effect is present). Yet, as
Morgan and Schuster (1992) recently pointed out, these regression coefficients really tell us about the average
contribution to psychological health of each additional negative exchange and each additional positive exchange.
Although this incremental effect of each additional negative exchange exceeds the incremental effect of each additional
positive exchange in many studies, respondents typically report few negative exchanges and many positive exchanges
(Finch et al., 1989; Revenson et al., 1991; Rook, 1984; Schuster et al., 1990), as noted earlier. Thus, the cumulative
effect of positive exchanges may exceed the cumulative effect
 
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of negative exchanges. This would be true if the positive exchanges were sufficiently numerous to offset their
comparatively weak individual (per exchange) effects. Vinokur and Van Ryn (1993) commented in this regard,
"Compared with the volatile and extreme effects of social undermining, those of social support appear weaker but more
stable" (p. 350).
Morgan and Schuster (1992) reanalyzed published regression results from several studies, showing that findings initially
interpreted as revealing a negativity effect actually reveal a positivity effect when the cumulative effect of the weak-but-
numerous positive exchanges is taken into account. From a phenomenological perspective, this would mean that when
negative exchanges occur, they may be more potent or salient than positive exchanges (Rook & Pietromonaco, 1987), but
when aggregated, negative exchanges may be less consequential for psychological health precisely because they occur
infrequently. That is, the potent-but-scarce negative exchanges may have less cumulative impact on well-being than do
the comparatively weak-but-common positive exchanges. This suggests a need to be more circumspect in the
interpretation of negativity effects that emerge from conventional regression analyses.
How many positive exchanges are required to offset the deleterious effects of negative exchanges in ongoing
relationships is an interesting question. Gottman (1994) suggested, based on his extensive research on marital interaction,
that couples need to maintain a ratio of at least 5 positive exchanges to 1 negative exchange in order to preserve marital
satisfaction. In unhappily married couples, a 1 to 1 ratio is more common (Gottman, 1994). Relationships that offer few
hedonic rewards, or too few rewards to offset the costs, are likely to terminate (Carstensen, 1993; Thibaut & Kelley,
1959), although several of the contributors to this volume point out that even manifestly dysfunctional interaction
patterns sometimes serve functions that help to perpetuate both the pattern of negative exchanges and the relationship
itself (e.g., Le Poire et al., chap. 6; Segrin, chap. 11).
Magnitude of Effects Over Time. A final analytic issue concerns the relative magnitude of negative versus positive effects
over time. When researchers have suggested that negative social exchanges are more consequential for well-being than
positive social exchanges, they imply that the greater effects of negative exchanges endure over time. That is, they
assume that negative exchanges produce a greater displacement from a baseline level of functioning and this effect
endures over time, as illustrated in the upper panel of Fig. 12.1. In this figure (showing hypothetical data), the curve
plotted for negative exchanges suggests that these exchanges produce a greater departure from baseline well-being than
do positive
 
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Fig. 12.1.
 Alternative models of the relative magnitude of the effects of positive versus negative exchanges over time.
exchanges, and this effect persists over time. It is possible, however, that negative exchanges have greater impact only in
the short run (e.g., Vinokur & Van Ryn, 1993). This possibility is portrayed in the lower panel of Fig. 12.1. In this
alternative model, negative exchanges have a greater initial impact than do positive exchanges, but the effect of negative
exchanges decays more dramatically over time. This second model mirrors Taylor's (1991) analysis of the effects of
positive versus negative life events over time. She argued that negative life events evoke strong initial psychological
responses that subsequently become dampened as people actively seek
 
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ways to minimize or undo the impact of the events. No comparable minimization process applies to positive events, and
their long-term impact, therefore, is ultimately greater.
The virtual dearth of longitudinal studies that explicitly compare short-term versus long-term effects of positive versus
negative exchanges makes it difficult to evaluate these two competing models. In analyses of data from a sample of older
adults that span a 1-year period, Lewis and Rook (1991) obtained preliminary support for the idea that negative
interactions have more substantial effects in the short run, but positive interactions have more substantial effects in the
long run. Finch and Zautra (1992), however, reported findings from a study spanning a period of several months that
support the idea that negative exchanges have more powerful effects both in the short run and the long run. In a large
study of unemployed persons, Vinokur and Van Ryn (1993) found that negative social exchanges had a strong adverse
impact on participants' psychological health at baseline, and decreases in negative exchanges were related to improved
psychological health at follow-ups that took place 2 and 4 months later. Positive interactions in their study were only
related to concurrent psychological health at baseline.
Thus, the available data are limited and conflicting, but it is important to bear in mind that negativity effects have been
most often documented in studies that have examined concurrent associations between psychological functioning and
positive versus negative social interaction. These cross-sectional approaches can detect initial negativity effects, but
cannot reveal whether, or how rapidly, such effects decay over time. As a result, the predominance of cross-sectional
approaches in the work conducted to date may have tended to inflate the evidence for negativity effects.

Recommendations and Conclusions

The literature discussed in this chapter is concerned with the question of how, on balance, the "good" and the "bad"
(though perhaps not the "ugly") aspects of personal relationships influence well-being. Interest in this question has been
stimulated, in part, by an apparent paradox in research on the health-related effects of social bonds, with some work
suggesting that close relationships contribute, and may even be essential to, health and well-being (Baumeister & Leary,
1995; House et al., 1988) and other work suggesting that the negative aspects of close relationships tend to cancel or
outweigh their positive aspects (Rook, 1992a). If the analysis presented here is correct, then the latter view rests on an
empirical base that suffers from some methodological limitations that have received
 
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relatively little attention. Specifically, the evidence for negativity effects, although intriguing in its implications and its
resonance with similar findings in other literatures (Cacioppo et al, 1997; Kahneman, & Tversky, 1984; Kanouse &
Hanson, 1972), may have been overstated. The idea that negative social exchanges substantially detract from emotional
health has been well-established, but the inference that negative exchanges generally matter more for emotional health
than do positive exchanges appears to require stronger empirical support.
Several recommendations for future research follow from the discussion of methodological limitations in this chapter.
First, consideration should be given to the implications of sampling plans for the distributions of life stress and social
integration in the resulting samples. Second, the positive and negative social exchanges assessed in our studies should
adequately capture each domain, should be of roughly comparable extremity, and should reflect comparable time frames.
Third, the emotional health outcomes assessed should reflect a differentiated view of emotional health and an awareness
of the temporal course of the outcomes studied. Fourth, data analyses and interpretations should probe for possible
nonlinear associations, should differentiate incremental versus cumulative effects, and should distinguish between short-
term and long-term effects. Attention to these methodological issues is unlikely to reverse the conclusion that negative
social exchanges cause considerable emotional distress, but it may provide the basis for more tempered conclusions about
the relative importance of positive and negative exchanges.
These recommendations were derived from a methodologically oriented review of a circumscribed body of research, and
they can be elaborated considerably with the ideas and insights presented in other chapters in this volume. A number of
intriguing themes recur across these chapters that suggest directions for expanding our understanding of the relational
dynamics, individual differences, and cognitive-behavioral processes that surround positive and negative social
interactions. For example, the irony that many of the very traits and behaviors that provide the basis for initial attraction
contain the seeds for subsequent conflict and even repulsion (Bratslavsky et al., chap. 10; Felmlee, chap. 1) was largely
unexplored in this chapter. The processes that lead from early harmony to later discord and disaffection involve dialectic
tensions, contradictions, ambiguities, and biases in perceptions and communication that are discussed in detail by the
contributors to this volume (LePoire et al., chap 6; Sillars, chap. 3; Spitzberg & Cupach, Introduction). Similar processes
may underlie the transformation of problematic behavior from merely annoying to deeply disturbing or even threatening
behavior (Cupach & Spitzberg, chap. 8). Avenues for further inquiry are suggested, as well, by the
 
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contributors who observed that seemingly dysfunctional interaction patterns sometimes serve a function (though not
necessarily an adaptive one) in the social relationships or groups in which they occur (Guerrero & Andersen, chap. 2; Le
Poire et al., chap. 6; Segrin, chap. 11). As a result, dysfunctional relational patterns are reinforced and perpetuated, and
efforts to change them often meet resistance (Le Poire et al., chap. 6; Segrin, chap. 11). The bidirectional nature of these
associationsbetween dysfunctional interaction and psychological disorder (Segrin, chap. 11) or between
miscommunication and emotional distress (Sillars, chap. 3)has not been fully explored in the literature reviewed in this
chapter. Several contributors also remind us that historical and cultural contexts influence how people experience and
attempt to manage the problematic interactions that occur in their close relationships (Bratslavsky et al, chap. 10; Guerro
& Anderson, chap. 2; Spitzberg & Cupach, Introduction). These contributions significantly enrich, and illustrate how we
might extend, our current understanding of the troubling aspects of personal relationships.

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AUTHOR INDEX

A
Abbey, A., 371, 375, 377, 381, 389
Abeyta-Price, C., 245, 261
Abrahams, D., 310, 326
Abramis, D.J., 375, 377, 381, 389
Abramovitch, R., 126, 127, 146, 149, 151
Abramson, L.Y., 335, 353, 354, 355, 357, 363
Acitelli, L.K., 84, 95, 99
Adams, H.E., 69
Adams, R.M., xiii, xviii
Adamson, L., 163, 173
Adrian, C., 339, 358
Afifi, W.A., 55, 66, 68
Agostinelli, G., 276, 287, 305
Agras, W.S., xix, 370, 372, 390
Ahmad, S., 348, 355
Alberts, J.K., 122, 139, 149
Alexander, J.F., 90, 101, 235, 262
Alfano, M.S., 335, 336, 359
Allan, K., xii, xviii
Allen, A., 77, 99
Allen, W., 277, 305
Alloy, L.B., 335, 353, 354, 355
Als, H., 163, 172, 173
Altman, I., xii, xviii, 7, 29, 90, 101, 235, 262, 278, 305
Alvarez, M.D., 305
Amstrutz, D.K., 335, 336, 355
Anders, T., xiii, xviii
Andersen, P.A., 241, 260
Anderson, C.A., 330, 341, 355
Anderson, C.M., 174
Anderson, J.G., 163, 172
Anderson, P.A., 47, 59
Anderson, S.C., 158, 172, 236, 258
Andrews, F.M., 371, 389
Angst, J., 327, 355
Anthony, J.C., 327, 355
Anthony, S., 110, 115, 116, 117
Antonucci, T.C., 371, 375, 377, 381, 383, 391
Argyle, M., 369, 382, 389
Aristotle, 42, 67
Arkowitz, H.S., 335, 361
Arluke, A., 106, 107, 108, 109, 117
Arnold, M.B., 67
Arnoult, L.H., 341, 355
Aron, A., 14, 29
Aron, E., 14, 29
Aronson, E., xii, xxi, 13, 29, 35, 69, 314, 325
Aronson, V., 310, 326
Arrowood, A.J., 60, 68
Arthur, J., 170, 173, 174, 338, 356, 349
Aseltine, R.H., Jr., 371, 375, 377, 381, 385, 392
Asher, R.M., 160, 172
Ashmore, R.D., 4, 29
Attie, I., 347, 349, 355
Aune, K.S., 42, 67, 68
Averill, J.R., xii, xviii
 
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B
Back, K., 114, 117
Bahr, S.J., 156, 174
Bailey, M., 156, 172
Baker, L., 347, 361
Baker, R.C., 156, 161, 166, 167, 173
Baker, T., 377, 390
Ballard, R.G., 158, 172
Bandura, A., 351, 355
Bank, S., 124, 149
Barbono, H.E., 382, 390
Barkley, R.A., 130, 145, 147, 150
Barnes, J.A., xii, xviii
Baronowski, M., 97, 101
Barrera, M., Jr., 371, 377, 381, 389, 390
Barrett, K., 68, 157, 174
Barry, W.A., 80, 101, 122, 151
Bartholomew, K., 249, 259
Barton, R., 354, 360
Basco, M.R., 338, 355
Bateson, G., 122, 124, 149, 167, 172, 330, 355
Batsche, G.M., xviii
Baumeister, R.F., xii, xiii, xviii, 248, 251, 254, 258, 272, 278, 284, 299, 305, 308, 310, 311, 313, 314, 315, 316, 317, 318,
319, 320, 321, 322, 323, 325, 325, 369, 389
Baumgart, H., 67
Bavelas, J.B., xii, xviii, 76, 85, 99, 330, 364
Baxter, L.A., 6, 7, 29, 40, 67, 235, 258, 290, 305
Bazzini, D., 341, 360
Beach, S.R.H., 328, 337, 338, 355, 361
Beard, C.M., 348, 360
Beattie, H.J., 349, 356, 358
Beattie, M., 156, 157, 161, 165, 166, 167, 172
Beatty, M.E., 335, 351
Beavin, J., 80, 81, 82, 102, 176
Beck, M., 239, 258
Becker, E., xviii
Becker, J., 371, 372, 375, 377, 381, 390, 391
Becker, L.S., 346, 359
Becker, R., 156, 157, 172
Beels, C.C., 330, 331, 360
Beglan, A., 338, 356, 359
Beglin, S.J., 327, 356
Beiser, M., 334, 357
Bell, R.A., 5, 29
Bellack, A.S., 332, 361
Bellah, R.N., 317, 326
Belsher, G., 337, 356
Benedict, J.O., 248, 262
Ben-Ze'ev, A., 105, 108, 109, 116
Beran, L.C., 237, 240, 262
Berger, C.R., 77, 81, 87, 89, 99
Bergmann, J.R., xii, xviii, 105, 116
Berk, L.A., 346, 357
Berk, R.A., 255, 258
Berk, S.F., 255, 258
Berke, J.H., xiii, xix, 38, 67
Berman, W.H., 250, 263
Bernieri, F.J., 163, 172
Bernstein, J.Y, xix
Bernston, G.G., 372, 388, 389
Berry, C.A., 382, 390
Bers, S.A., 68
Berscheid, E., 9, 28, 29, 310, 326, 379, 383, 389
Best, J., 234, 261
Bettini, L.A., 336, 361
Biden, J.R., 239, 258
Biderman, M.D., xii, xxii
Biglan, A., 170, 173, 174
Billings, A., 124, 137, 144, 149, 344, 356
Birchler, G.R., 123, 149
Bird, G.W., 251, 263
Bissonnette, V., 84, 100
Black, A., xii, xviii, 76, 99
Blackstone, T., 76, 78, 102
Blain, M.D., 337, 364
Bland, R.C., 327, 358
Blane, H., 344, 359
Blau, P.M., 170, 173, 174
Bloomfield, H.H., 284, 300, 305
Blouin, A.G., 347, 350, 356
Blouin, J.H., 347, 350, 356
Blount, F., xii, xix
Blundell, J.E., 349, 358
Boca, S., 47, 69
 
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Bochner, A.P., xxi, xix, 82, 99, 125, 147, 149
Boden, J.M., xii, xviii
Bogdaniak, R.G., 141, 142, 149
Bohm, E., 68
Bohman, T., 80, 102
Bok, S., 104, 105, 116
Bolger, N., 370, 375, 378, 389
Bond, R.A., 40, 41, 42, 57, 68
Bonner, R.L., 339, 362
Borkenau, P., 379, 393
Boscolo, L., xii, xxi, 165, 171, 175
Bowlby, J., 382, 389
Bradac, J.J., 163, 174
Bradburn, W.E., Jr., 239, 259
Bradbury, T.N., 80, 84, 91, 99, 100
Bradley, G., 88, 99
Brage, D., 340, 356
Bragg, M.E., 339, 364
Brandes, J.S., 348, 357
Brazleton, T.B., 163, 172
Brehm, S.S., 41, 69
Brennan, P.L., 371, 375, 391
Brickman, E., 377, 390
Briggs, S.C., 171, 174
Brinberg, D., 161, 173
Bringle, R.G., 46, 50, 68
Brooks-Gunn, J., 133, 151
Brossman, B.G., 88, 99
Brossman, J.E., 88, 99
Brown, B.B., 7, 29
Brown, J.D., 314, 318, 326
Brycz, H., 379, 393
Bryson, J.B., 36, 44, 48, 51, 54, 56, 64, 68
Buerkel-Rothfuss, N.L., 5, 29
Buller, O.B., 162, 173
Burdett, M.P., 277, 305
Burgess, A.G., 235, 245, 263
Burgess, A.W., 235, 245, 263
Burgett, T., 240, 253, 259
Burggraf, C.S., 83, 88, 102, 141, 142, 149
Burgoon, J.K., 160, 162, 163, 173, 253, 259
Burgoon, M., xvi, xix, 160, 173
Burke, T., 43, 68
Burleson, B.R., 4, 5, 14, 29
Burleson, M.H., 370, 393
Burman, B., 370, 389
Burman, R., 92, 99
Burnett, R., 86, 87, 99
Burridge, K., xii, xviii
Burrows, L., 370, 393
Buss, D.M., 4, 29, 41, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 60, 68
Buunk, B., 54, 55, 68, 70, 375, 378, 389
Byrne, D., 4, 13, 14, 29
Bzvelzs, J.B., 145, 151

C
Cacioppo, J.T., 147, 150, 370, 372, 377, 388, 389, 391
Camire, L., xii, xxii
Campbell, A., 369, 390
Campbell, J., 60, 67, 70
Campbell, W.K., xiii, xxi
Campos, J.J., 68
Canary, D.J., xii, xix, 88, 91, 99, 122, 123, 150
Caplan, R.D., 375, 377, 381, 389
Cappella, J.M., 123, 163, 173, 176, 150, 151
Carder, P.C., 372, 391
Carlston, D.E., 372, 379, 392
Carrier, L., 246, 259
Carson, A.T., 156, 161, 166, 167, 173
Carstensen, L.L., 385, 390
Casano, R.A., 83, 84, 102
Cassidy, J., 134, 152
Castell, P., 161, 173
Ceabattari, J., 39, 43, 68
Cecchin, G., xii, xxi, 165, 171, 175
Cermak, T.L., 156, 157, 158, 165, 167, 173
Cerullo, K.A., xii, xix
Chancer, L.S., xii, xix
Charny, I.W., xiii, xix
Chaudhuri, M., 256, 259
Chee, M.A., 147, 150, 370, 372, 377, 391
Chiauzzi, E.J., 158, 173
Chideya, F., 239, 258
 
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Chovil, N., xii, xviii, 76, 77, 99
Christensen, A., 148, 150, 151
Christie, H., 246, 259
Christy, L., 240, 253, 259
Cicourel, A.V., 124, 150
Clair, R.P., 253, 259
Clanton, G., 40, 41, 68
Clarke, D.D., 86, 99
Clore, G.L., 13, 29
Cloven, D.H., 88, 89, 99
Coates, L., 85, 99
Cobb, S., 376, 390
Cohen, S., 370, 383, 390
Cohen, W.S., 237, 239, 259
Coker, D.A., 162, 163, 173
Coleman, F.L., 235, 238, 259
Colgrove, M., 284, 300, 305
Collins, S., 165, 176
Colvin, C.R., 74, 77, 79, 99
Colwin, L., 288, 305
Comstock, J., 42, 67, 68
Conger, J.A., xii, xix
Connell, A., xix
Converse, P.E., 369, 390
Conway, J., 171, 173
Coombs, R.H., 171, 173
Coppel, D.B., 377, 381, 390
Corder, B.F., 158, 173
Corder, R.F., 158, 173
Cordova, J.V., 92, 100
Cornoni-Huntley, J., 382, 390
Corsaro, W.A., 146, 150
Corter, C., 127, 146, 149, 151
Costa, P.T., Jr., 382, 390
Coupland, J., 174
Coupland, N., xiii, xix, 86, 100, 164, 174, 176
Courtright, J.A., 125, 136, 150 151
Cousins, A.V., 238, 248, 252, 253, 259, 262
Cowan, G., 156, 161, 173
Cowett, P.Y., 256, 261
Cox, G., 92, 100
Coyne, J.C., 373, 376, 383, 390
Crant, J.M., xix
Cronkite, R.C., 378, 390
Crouter, A.C., 9, 30
Crowder, J., 237, 259
Crowne, D.P., 110, 116
Cummings, J.L., 246, 263
Cupach, W.R., xi, xiii, xix, 5, 30, 62, 64, 65, 69, 91, 99, 122, 123, 150, 241, 243, 248, 253, 254, 255, 259, 262, 263, 370,
373, 390
Curliss, L., 245, 261
Cutter, C.G., 171, 173

D
Dainton, M., 125, 152, 375, 392
Dakin, S., 60, 68
Dakof, G.A., 370, 390
Dalby, M., 176
Daley, K., 256, 259
Daly, M., 68
Danziger, K., 81, 100
Davidsen-Nielsen, M., 288, 301, 306
Davies, R.M., 69
Davis, K.E., 5, 30
Davis, M.S., 284, 295, 297, 305
Davis, R.C., 377, 390
de Becker, G., 237, 254, 256, 257, 259, 261
De Clerambault, C.G., 245, 259
DeHart, D.D., 235, 260
Deiner, E., 70
Delespaul, P.A.E.G., 316, 325
Delgado, A.R., 40, 41, 42, 57, 68
DeLongis, A., 370, 373, 383, 389, 390
Dennis, B.G., 238, 261
Denton, W.H., 4, 5, 14, 29
DePaulo, B.M., xii, xix
Derech-Zehavi, A., 107, 117
Derlega, V.J., 278, 305
DeTurk, M.A., 162, 173
Diacovo, N., 236, 259
Diener, E., 381, 390
Dietz, P., 237, 259
Ditto, P.H., 373, 390
DiVasto, P.V., 240, 253, 259
Doane, J.A., 125, 150
Douglas, J.E., 235, 245, 263
Doust, J., 246, 259
Douvan, E., 84, 99, 370, 393
Downing, N.E., 171, 173
Drevets, W.C., 246, 259
 
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Drew, J.B., 371, 391
Drewery, J., 158, 175
Driscoll, G., 122, 149
Duck, S., xiii, xix, 5, 6, 8, 27, 29, 285, 286, 287, 289, 295, 305, 373, 390
Dun, T., 91, 100
Dundes, A., xii, xix.
Dunham, R.M., 97, 101
Dunkel-Schetter, C., 370, 390
Dunlop, J.P., 246, 259
Dunn, J., 125, 126, 146, 147, 150
DuPont, R.L., 157, 173
Dutton, D.G., 95, 100, 249, 259
Dyer, C.S., 391

E
Eagley, A.H., 4, 29, 106, 116
Easton, J., 241, 251, 253, 255, 260
Eckenrode, J., 375, 378, 389
Edwards, P., 158, 171, 173
Egert, S., 175
Eisenberg, A.R., 128, 130, 132, 133, 147, 150
Eisenberg, E.M., 77, 82, 99, 100, 147, 149
Ekman, P., 47, 68
El Gaddal, Y.Y., 245, 246, 259
Ellard, J.H., 376, 390
Ellsworth, P., 47, 68
Elmer, N., 104, 105, 106, 107, 116
Eloy, S.V., 47, 59, 67, 68, 241, 260
Eminson, S.R., 245, 260
Emmons, R.A., xii, xix
Emory, R.E., 134, 152
Ephron, N., 271, 274, 305
Epstein, J.A., xii, xix
Erdly, W.W., 371, 372, 375, 377, 381, 391
Erlandson, K.T., 168, 175
Evans, D.L., 346, 260
Evans, R., 236, 260
Ewart, C.K., xix, 370, 372, 390
Ewing, J.A., 158, 173

F
Fanshel, D., 124, 150
Farrell, D.M., 37, 68
Farrell, T.B., 81, 100
Farrington, D.P., xix
Favorini, A., 170, 174
Fedoroff, J.P., 246, 262
Fehr, B., xii, xix
Feingold, A., 4, 29
Feldman, C.M., 93, 95, 100
Felmlee, D.H., 4, 7, 10, 17, 22, 29
Felson, R.B., xii, xxii
Felton, B.J., 382, 390
Ferrarro, K.J., xiii, xix, 165, 173
Festinger, L., xii, xix, 4, 8, 30, 60, 68, 114, 117
Fielding, D., 4, 30
Fillion, K., xiii, xix
Finch, J.F., 371, 374, 377, 381 384, 387, 390
Fincham, F.D., 80, 84, 85, 91, 99, 100
Finkelhor, D., xii, xix
Finney, J.W., 378, 390
Fiore, J., 377, 381, 390
Fisch, R., 94, 102
Fischer, J.L., 97, 101
Fischer, M., 130, 145, 150
Fishbein, S., 70
Fisher, K., 255, 260
Fitness, J., 42, 51, 68
Fitness, J., xii, xix
Fitzpatrick, M.A., 140, 141, 150, 152
Fletcher, G.J.O., xii, xix, 42, 51, 68, 76, 77, 78, 80, 84, 85, 96, 100, 102
Fletcher, K.E., 130, 145, 147, 150
Flowers, R.B., 239, 260
Folger, J.P., 142, 151
Folkes, V.S., 254, 260
Follingstad, D.R., 235, 260
Folwell, A.L., 83, 84, 102
Foote, D., 239, 258
Ford, R., 295, 305
Fordyce, W.E., 158, 174
Forgas, J.P., 80, 100
Foss, M.A., 48, 58, 69
Fox, R.E., 158, 173
 
page_399

Page 400
Fox, S.A., xiii, xx
Franco, N., xiii, xx, 250, 261
Frankel, V., 303, 305
Freeman, H.R., 5, 16, 30
Fremouw, W.J., 238, 255, 260
Frentz, T.S., 81, 100
Friedland, A., 256, 261
Friedman, L.S., 170, 174, 175
Friel, J.C., 157, 165, 173, 176
Friel, L.D., 168, 173
Friesen, W.V., 47, 68
Fromkin, H.L., 14, 30
Fromm, E., xiii, xx, 310, 325
Furhrman, R.W., 81, 85, 95, 96, 101
Futterman, A.M., 378, 392

G
Galanter, M., xii, xx
Gallagher, R.P., 238, 260
Gallagher-Thompson, D., 378, 392
Galloway, J., 48, 58, 69
Garcia, S., 77, 84, 100, 101
Gardner, W.L., 372, 388, 389
Garvin-Doxas, K., 74, 70, 80, 101
Geberth, V.J., 245, 248, 260
Gelles, R.J., xii, xix
Gemen, J., xx
Genn-Bash, A., 43, 68
Georgoudi, M., 106, 107, 108, 117
Gergen, K.J., 87, 100
Gergen, M.M., 87, 100
Gesn, P.R., 70, 100
Gibovsky, A., 375, 381, 384, 392
Giles, H., 163, 164, 174, 175
Giles, H., xiii, xx, 237, 261
Gillett, T., 245, 260
Gilmore, D.D., xii, xx
Glaser, R., 370, 372, 377, 391
Glazer, R., 147, 150
Gluckman, M., 106, 117
Goborit, M., 158, 175
Goffman, E., xiii, xx, 124, 150
Gold, J.A., 25, 30
Goldberg, J.G., xiii, xx, 5, 7, 30
Goldman, M., 165, 174
Goldsmith, D., 235, 260
Goldsmith, H.H., 68
Goldstein, R.L., 246, 260
Gondolf, E.W., 255, 260
Goode, W.J., 3, 30
Goodwin, M.P., 240, 262
Goranson, R., 236, 263
Gordon, J.R., 157, 174
Gorski, T.J., 161, 167, 174
Gothard, S., 235, 239, 244, 249, 250, 262
Gottman, J.M., 92, 100, 107, 117, 122, 123, 136, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 147, 148, 150, 322, 326, 385,
390
Gouldner, A.W., 166, 167, 174
Gove, W.R., 171, 174
Graham, R., 79, 100
Grajek, S., 310, 326
Green, C.M., 246, 262
Greenberg, D.F., 7, 30
Greenberg, J., 314, 326
Greene, J.O., 163, 173
Greene-Pepper, D., 305
Greenleaf, J., 168, 174
Grimshow, A.D., 150
Groening, M., 300, 305
Gross, L., 234, 260
Gruber, J.E., 253, 260
Guerrero, L.K., 42, 53, 54, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 67, 68, 241, 260
Gunn, J., 246, 263
Gustafson, S.B., xii, xx
Guthrie, S., 165, 175

H
Haaken, J., 158, 174
Haggard, L.M., 254, 263
Hahlweg, K., 123, 142, 144, 145, 148, 151
Haines, B., 43, 68
Hale, J.L., 162, 163, 173
Haley, J., 167, 172
Hall, D., 238, 248, 249, 252, 260
Hallett, J.S., 168, 175
Halman, J., 371, 389
Hankins, G.A., 240, 261
Hansen, G.L., 57, 69
Hanson, R.L., 373, 388, 391
 
page_400

Page 401
Hansson, R., 370, 392
Harmon, R.B., 236, 239, 246, 247, 260
Harmon, W.W., 238, 260
Harper, R., xiii, xviii, xx
Harrell, A., 239, 256, 260
Hart, B., 255, 260
Harvey, C.L., 150, 173
Harvey, J.H., 6, 30, 86, 100, 270, 273, 276, 287, 296, 297, 300, 301, 305
Hassanyeh, F., 245, 260
Hatfield, E., 4, 5, 30, 31
Hattem, D., 79, 101
Hawks, R.D., 156, 174
Hay, D.F., 146, 150
Hays, J.R., 247, 262
Heatherton, T.F., 316, 325
Heavey, C.L., 148, 150, 151
Heidegger, M., 105, 117
Heider, F., 305
Heller, K., 373, 390
Hendrick, C., 78, 100
Hendrick, S.S., 78, 100
Hendricks, A., 158, 173
Hensman, C., 165, 175
Hentel, R.J., 122, 151
Herold, E.S., 240, 253, 260
Hertel, R.J., 80, 101
Hewes, D.E., 142, 153
Hill, C.T., 14, 30
Hill, K.C., 83, 84, 102
Hill, M.D., 377, 384, 391
Hill, T., 235, 272, 282, 283, 284, 305
Hill-Barlow, D., 248, 262
Hirschman, D.O., xiii, xx
Hobart, C.J., 124, 125, 126, 152
Hobfoll, S.E., 372, 391
Hocker, J.L., 90, 100
Hodge, C.N., 4, 30
Hofland, B., 256, 261
Holahan, C.J., 371, 375, 391
Holahan, C.K., 371, 375, 391
Hollandsworth, J.G., Jr., 55, 69
Holmes, J.G., 78, 85, 101
Holmes, R.M., 236, 245, 260
Holtzworth-Munroe, A., 170, 174, 279, 305
Homans, G.G., 376, 391
Honeycutt, J.M., 84, 101
Hops, H., 170, 173, 174, 175
Horowitz, L., 370, 391
Horowitz, M.J., 279, 305
Horton, A.L., 255, 260
Hosman, L.A., 253, 260
Hotaling, G.T., xii, xix, 57, 70
House, J.S., 370, 375, 376, 378, 383, 387, 391
Howard, D., 171, 174
Howard, N., 171, 174
Hronda, D., 237, 260
Hueter, J.A., 236, 260
Hughs, M., 171, 174
Hunter, J.E., 4, 30
Hupka, R.B., 58, 69
Hurst, A.P., 83, 84, 102
Huston, M., xii, xx
Huston, T.L., 9, 30

I
Ickes, W., 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 84, 85, 89, 91, 99, 100, 101, 102, 271, 272, 305
Imahori, T.T., 254, 262
Ingersoll-Dayton, B., 371, 375, 377, 381, 391
Ingleby, J.D., 125, 150
Isaacson, K., 246, 262
Ives, S.W., 67

J
Jackson, D.D., 80, 81, 82, 102, 167, 172, 176
Jackson, J.K., 158, 174
Jackson, L.A., 4, 30
Jackson, R., 240, 253, 259
Jackson, S., 82, 100
Jacob, T., 159, 167, 170, 174
Jacobs, S., 82, 100
Jacobson, N.J., 279, 305
Jacobson, N.S., 92, 100, 159, 170, 174
Jaegar, M.E., 110, 115, 117
James, J.E., 165, 174
 
page_401

Page 402
Janeway, E., xii, xx
Jason, L.A., 241, 251, 253, 255, 260
Jeckel, L.L., 246, 260
Jenkins, R., xii, xx
Jenson, A.D., 163, 172
Jester, S.B., 251, 263
John, R.S., 79, 92, 99, 101
Johnson, J.M., xiii, xix, 165, 173
Johnson, P., 163, 174
Johnson, S.L., 382, 383, 391
Jones, T.S., 77, 82, 102
Jones, W.H., 277, 305
Jordan, T., 236, 260
Jorgensen, P.F., 68, 241, 260
Jourard, S.M., 278, 305
Judd, R., 302, 306
Jung, C.B., xv, 7, 30

K
Kaci, J.H., 255, 261
Kahn, M.D., 125, 149
Kahn, R.L., 383, 391
Kahneman, D., 373, 388, 391
Kanouse, D.E., 373, 388, 391
Karoly, P., 374, 392
Kashy, D.A., xii, xix
Kasson, J.F., xii, xx
Katel, P., 239, 258
Katz, J.E., xiii, xx, 237, 240, 261
Kaufman, A., 240, 253, 259
Kaufman, E., 158, 159, 174
Kaufman, P., 174
Keiser, T.W., xii, xx
Kellerman, K., 85, 100
Kelley, D.L., 253, 259
Kelley, H.H., 161, 176, 306, 312, 326, 376, 385, 392
Keough, W., xii, xx
Kerchoff, A.C., 5, 14, 30
Kerkstra, A., 55, 56, 70
Kessler, R.C., 370, 371, 375, 377, 381, 385, 389, 392
Kidwell, J., 97, 101
Kiecolt-Glazer, J.K., 370, 372, 377, 391
Kiecolt-Glazer, G., 147, 150
Kim, P., 241, 262
Kim, S.H., 35, 70
Kingma, D.R., 302, 306
Kininmonth, L., 78, 100
Kirkendol, S.E., xii, xix
Kirson, D., 35, 48, 50, 51, 70
Klein, A.R., 256, 261
Klein, M., 69
Klinger, E., 369, 391
Knoff, H.M., xviii
Koffinke, L., 167, 174
Kogan, K.L., 158, 174
Korda, M., 124, 150
Kraemer, H.C., xix, 370, 372, 390
Krone, A.M., 158, 176
Krueger, A., 158, 175
Kulberg, G.E., 25, 30
Kulka, R.A., 370, 393
Kursh, C.O., xii, xx, 7, 101
Kurt, J.L., 238, 245, 261

L
L'Abate, L., xii, xxii, 176
La Brecque, R., 234, 261
La Gaipa, J.J., xii, xx
La Pointe, W., 158, 175
Labov, W., 124, 150
Laing, R.D., 74, 101
Lakey, B., 371, 391
Lamb, M.E., 68
Lamott, A., 268, 306
Landau, E., 237, 261
Landis, K., 370, 387, 391
Landman, J., xii, xx
Lando, B., 127, 146, 149
Landolt, M.A., 249, 259
Lane, J., 239, 245, 246, 247, 249, 256, 263
Laner, M.R., 57, 69
Lange, C., 80, 84, 102
Lannamann, J.W., xvi, xx
Lardner, G., Jr., 234, 261
Larkin, J., 240, 261
Laszlo, A.T., 235, 245, 263
Lawson, N.A., 125
Lawson, S., 150
Lawton, M.P., 381, 391
Layne, C., 148, 150
 
page_402

Page 403
Le Poire, B.A., 155, 159, 160, 161, 165, 1666, 167, 168, 169, 174, 175
Leary, M.R., 278, 305, 313, 316, 325, 369, 387, 389
Lee, A.R., 74, 101
Lee, L., 290, 306
Lees-Haley, C.E., 243, 261
Lees-Haley, P.R., 243, 261
Leets, L., 237, 261
Lehman, D.R., 370, 390, 393
Lehman, S., 376, 392
Leick, N., 288, 301, 306
Lenney, E., 25, 30
Leonard, K.E., 90, 91, 92, 100, 101, 159, 174
Leonard, R., 240, 261
Leong, G.B., 245, 261
LePoire, B.A., 253, 259
Lepore, S.J., 371, 374, 380, 381, 391
Levenson, R.W., 322, 326
Levin, J., 106, 107, 108, 109, 117
Levitt, M.J., xiii, xx, 250, 261
Lewis, M.A., 387, 391
Lewis, R.A., 5, 30
Lilijegren, S., 158, 173
Linder, D., 314, 325
Lindsey, M., 235, 261
Ling, L.C., 240, 261
Lingenfelter, C.O., 238, 260
Livingston, J.A., 255, 261
Locke, B.Z., 382, 390
Long, G.M., xiii, xx, 160, 175
Longo, L.C., 4, 29
Lopez, D.F., 373, 390
Loren, L., 271, 306
Loseke, D., 255, 258
Lovett, S.B., 378, 392
Lowney, K.S., 234, 261
Lyman, S.M., xiii, xx
Lynch, M., 129, 145, 146, 151
Lytton, H., 129, 130, 147, 151

M
Maack, L.H., 48, 54, 69
Madsen, R., 317, 326
Mahendra, B., 246, 263
Maidon, C.H., 240, 261
Majerovitz, D., 375, 381, 384, 392
Makau, J.M., xvi, xx
Makhijani, M.G., 4, 29
Maki, B.K., 83, 84, 102
Malarkey, W.B., 150, 372, 377, 391
Manasee, H., 176
Mandeville, B., xvi, xx
Manely, H., 239, 258
Manne, S., 375, 391
Mantle, D., 240, 253, 260
Mao, H.Y., 370, 372, 377, 391
Marangoni, C., 77, 84, 101
Margolin, G., 79, 92, 99, 101, 123, 124, 136, 151, 370, 389
Markman, H.J., 138, 151
Markman, R., 234, 261
Marlowe, D., 110, 116
Marshall, L.L., xvii, xx, 6, 30, 241, 254, 263
Martell, D., 237, 259
Martin, A.L., 158, 175
Mason, M., 168, 175
Mathes, E.W., 48, 50, 69
Matt, K.S., 370, 393
Matthews, D., 237, 259
Maypole, D., 253, 261
McAnaney, K.G., 245, 261
McCall, P.L., 254, 263
McCann, J.T., 238, 261
McClanahan, K.K., 25, 30
McClelland, D.C., 324, 326
McCrady, B.S., 171, 175
McCrae, R.R., 382, 390
McCrary, G.O., 235, 245, 263
McCreedy, K.R., 238, 261
McGhee, P., 86, 99
McGoun, M.J., 253, 259
McGovern, J.P., 157, 173
McGovern, M.P., 175
McGraw, K.M., 316, 326
McGuire, S., 126, 150
McHale, S.M., 9, 30
McMillen, C., xiii, xvii,
McNamara, J.R., xiii, xx, 160, 175
McReynolds, G., 249, 261
McWilliams, J., 255, 260
McWilliams, P., 284, 300, 305
 
page_403

Page 404
Mehrabian, A., 162
Meisel, S.S., 170, 174
Melichar, J.F., 377, 384, 391
Mellody, P., 156, 175
Meloy, J.R., 233, 235, 239, 240, 244, 246, 249, 250, 252, 256, 261, 262
Menzies, R.P.D., 246, 262
Mesquit, B., 69
Messman, S.J., 60, 62, 63, 64, 65, 69, 91, 99, 150
Mettetal, G., 107, 117
Metts, S., 6, 29, 254, 262
Mikesell, R., 151
Millar, F.E., 125, 136, 145, 150, 151
Miller, A., 175
Miller, G.R., 160, 173
Miller, J.K., 175
Miller, M., 174
Miller, R.S., xii, xx
Miller, S., 239, 258
Miller, W.I., xii, xx
Minkler, M., 378, 392
Mitchell, R.E., 378, 390
Moltz, D., xii, xx
Monroe, S.M., 382, 383, 391
Montgomery, B.M., 7, 29, 235, 258
Moore, T., xiii, xx, 7, 30
Moos, B.S., 167, 175
Moos, R.H., 167, 174, 371, 375, 378, 390, 391
Morgan, D.L., 371, 372, 375, 377, 381, 384, 391
Morin, K.S., 236, 262
Morra, N.N., 237, 240, 253, 263
Morrell, D., 274, 306
Morrison, D.H., 175
Mortensen, C.D., xiii, xxi
Morton, T.L., 90, 101, 235, 262
Moses-Zirkes, S., 236, 262
Mosher, D.L., 70
Mosley, N.R., 25, 30
Mowat, R.R., 58, 69
Mulk, A., 163, 174
Mullen, P.E., 26, 27, 28, 34, 38, 42, 50, 54, 58, 69, 70, 245, 246, 252, 262
Mullett, J., xii, xviii, 76, 99
Munn, P., 126, 146, 150
Murphy, M.A., 77, 82, 102
Murray, F.S., 237, 240, 262
Murray, S.L., 78, 85, 101
Murstein, B.I., 5, 30
Mzo, H.Y., 150

N
Nathans, J.A., 157, 175
Neal, A., 241, 251, 253, 255, 260
Neal, M.B., 372, 391
Neeld, E.H., 301, 306
Neimeyer, G.J., 4, 30
Nelson, E.S., 248, 262
Nepps, P., 370, 392
Nevo, B., 107, 117
Nevo, O., 107, 117
Newcomb, T.M., 4, 13, 30
Newmark, L., 256, 260
Newton, M., 147, 175
Newton, T., 150, 370, 372, 377, 391
Nicastro, A.M., 238, 248, 253, 262
Nicholls, P., 165, 175
Noller, P., 76, 85, 101
Norwood, R., 175
Notarius, C.L., 138, 151
Nussbaum, J.F., 86, 100
Nyberg, D., xii, xxi

O
O'Brien, P.E., 158, 175
O'Connor, C., 70
O'Keefe, D.J., 88, 101
O'Sullivan, P., 169, 175
Okun, M.A., 377, 381, 384, 390, 391
Oliver, M.B., xiii, xxi
Olsen, J., 234, 262
Oppenheimer, E., 165, 175
Orbuch, T.L., 6, 30, 86, 100, 270, 273, 287, 296, 300, 305, 306
Orford, J., 165, 175
Orion, D., 234, 262
Osteen, V., 170, 173, 174
Overbeck, J., 303, 306
Owens, H., 236, 239, 246, 247, 260
 
page_404

Page 405

P
Pagel, M.D., 371, 372, 375, 377, 381, 391
Paige, P.E., 158, 175
Paikoff, R.L., 133, 151
Palazzoli, M.S., xii, xxi, 165, 171, 175
Panskeep, J., 69
Parker, R.G., 48, 69
Parker, S.B, 256, 261
Parks, M.R., xvi, xvii, xxi
Parrish, K., 234, 262
Parrott, R., 253, 259
Parrott, W.G., 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 43, 44, 46, 51, 69, 70
Parry, C., 237, 259
Parry, D., 253, 259
Pathe, M., 245, 246, 252, 262
Patterson, G.R., 126, 133, 151, 170, 175
Patterson, J., 241, 262
Patterson, M.L., 163, 175
Paul, L., 48, 58, 69
Paulino, T.J., 171, 175
Payne, D., xii, xxi
Peak, K.J., xiii, xxi
Pearson, S., 240, 253, 259
Peele, S., 248, 262
Pennypacker, J., 238, 255, 260, 278, 302, 306
Peplau, L.A., 14, 30, 272, 282, 283, 284, 285, 305, 370, 392
Pepler, D.J., 126, 146, 149, 151
Perez, C., 236, 262
Perlman, D., 370, 392
Peterson, K.E., 34, 69
Petronio, S., 124, 151
Pfeiffer, S.M., 69
Phillips, B., 156, 157, 165, 175
Phillips, D., 302, 306
Phillips, G.M., xiii, xxi
Phillipson, H., 74, 101
Philppot, P., 47, 69
Phinney, J.S., 126, 128, 129, 146, 151
Piency, F.P., 171, 173
Pierce, G.R., 380, 382, 392
Pietromonaco, P., xii, xiii, xxi, 385, 392
Pike, G.R., 77, 82
Pilisuk, M., 378, 392
Pines, A., xii, xxi, 34, 35, 69
Pinsker, H., 370, 392
Pinto, R.P., 55, 69
Pirog-Good, M.A., 57, 70
Pizzi, N.J., 158, 175
Planalp, S., 74, 79, 80, 84, 101
Plutchik, R., 69
Poole, M.S., 142, 151
Popaleni, K., 240, 261
Pope, A., xviii, xxi
Portorti, P.F., 240, 261
Poster, M., xii, xxi
Prata, G., xii, xxi, 165, 171, 175
Pratt, A.R., xiii, xv, xxi
Price, J.R., 243, 261
Puente, M., 237, 262
Purdum, T.S., 3, 7, 30
Pyszczynski, T., 314, 326

R
Radloff, L.S., 383, 392
Rae, J.B., 158, 175
Rapoport, N., 267, 306
Rapson, R.L., 5, 30
Raskin, D.E., 246, 249, 262
Rauma, D., 255, 258
Raush, H.L., 12, 80, 101, 124, 151
Rawlins, W.K., xii, xvi, xxi
Ray, E.B., xii, xxi
Redfield, J., 370, 392
Reich, J.W., 377, 381, 390, 393
Reichert, T., 55, 67
Reichler, A., 241, 251, 253, 255, 260
Reid, J.B., 170, 175
Reis, H.T., 316, 325
Retzinger, S.M., 91, 98, 101
Revenson, T.A., 375, 381, 384, 392
Revenstorf, D., 123, 142, 144, 145, 148, 151
Reznik, J.S., 163, 172
Rideout, G., xiii, xx
Ridley, C.A., 79, 100, 102
Riecken, H.W., xii, xix
Rime, B., 47, 69
Riordan, R.J., 170, 175
 
page_405

Page 406
Ritchie, L.D., 81, 101
Ritzer, D.R., xii, xx
Rivers, M., 84, 101
Roberts, L.J., 90, 91, 92, 100, 101
Robinson, C., 254, 263
Rodgers, W.L., 369, 390
Rodin, J., 34, 37, 40, 43, 50, 51, 60, 62, 64, 66, 67, 69
Rodriquez, N., xii, xxi
Rogers, C.R., 310, 326
Rogers, J.M., 240, 261
Rogers, L.E., 123, 125, 136, 147, 150, 151
Roloff, M.E., 88, 89, 99
Romans, J.S.C., 247, 262
Rook, K.S., xii, xiii, xxi, 371, 372, 373, 374, 375, 376, 377, 378, 380, 382, 384, 385, 387, 391 392
Roscissano, L., 129, 145, 146, 151
Roscoe, B., 240, 262
Rose, J.M., 378, 392
Rose, M., 255, 260
Rosen, K., xiii, xxi
Rosenbaum, M.E., 5, 30
Rosenberg, D., 239, 258
Rosenberg, M.J., 110, 117
Rosenfeld, P., xii, xxii
Rosenthal, R., 112, 117, 163, 172
Rosner, L., 240, 253, 259
Rosner, R., 236, 239, 246, 247, 260
Rosnow, R.L., 106, 107, 108, 110, 112, 115, 117
Ross, E.S., 237, 262
Ross, H.S., 146, 150
Roth, S., 370, 393
Rothman, A.J., 37, 44, 70
Rottman, L., 310, 326
Rouse, L.P., 95, 101
Rubin, E.H., 246, 259
Rubin, Z., 14, 30, 272, 282, 283, 284, 285, 305, 306
Rue, L., xii, xxi
Ruehlman, L.S., 374, 392
Rushe, R., 92, 100
Rutstein, J., 70
Ruzzene, M., 76, 101
Ryave, A., xii, xxi
Ryckman, R.M., 25, 30
Rysman, A.R., 105, 117
S
Sabini, J., xiii, xxi, 107, 117
Sabourin, T.C., 93, 95, 101
Salovey, P., 34, 37, 40, 43, 44, 50, 51, 60, 61, 62, 64, 66, 69, 70
Sanders, R.E., 82, 101
Sarason, B.R., 380, 382, 392
Sarason, I.G., 380, 382, 392
Saunders, K., 249, 259
Savitz, L., 237, 240, 253, 262
Schachter, S., xii, xix, 114, 114
Schaef, A.W., 157, 165, 176
Schapp, C., 55, 56, 70, 123, 136, 138, 147, 151
Schaum, M., 234, 262
Schein, S., 104, 117
Schiaffino, K.M., 375, 381, 384, 392
Schilling, E.A., 370, 389
Schindler, L., 123, 142, 144, 145, 148, 151
Schmoling, K.B., 170, 174
Schoeck, H., xii, xxi, 44, 70
Schoenewolf, G., xii, xxi
Schotter, A., xiii, xxi
Schuster, T.L., 371, 375, 377, 381, 384, 385, 391 392
Schwartz, J., 70
Schwartz, P., xii, xx
Scott, C.K., 80, 81, 84, 85, 95, 96, 100, 101
Scott, M.B., xiii, xx
Scott, M.D., 76, 77, 79, 80, 84, 102
Searle, J.R., 81, 101
Sedikides, C., xxi, xiii
Seeman, M., 245, 263
Segal, J.H., 246, 249, 263
Seilhamer, R.A., 167, 174
Seligson, M.R., 156, 166, 167, 175
Selman, R.L., 130, 152
Semic, B.A., xii, xix
Senberg, C., 68
Shantz, C.U., 124, 125, 126, 152
Shapiro, A.L., 84, 101
Sharpsteen, D.J., 47, 50, 70
Shaver, P.R., 34, 48, 50, 51, 70
Shealy, S.E., 158, 176
Shearin, E.N., 380, 392
Sheffield, C.J., 237, 240, 263
 
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Sherman, L., 170, 173, 174
Shinn, M., 376, 392
Shulman, G., 161, 168, 176
Shuttleworth, E.C., 391
Signer, S., 246, 263
Sillars, A.L., 75, 77, 78, 79, 80, 82, 83, 84, 88, 90, 91, 101, 102, 136, 141, 142, 145, 148, 149, 152
Siltanen, S.A., 253, 260
Silva, J.A., 245, 261
Silver, M.E., xiii, xx, xxi, 107, 117, 250, 261
Simone, D., 170, 175
Simonidis, K.M., 255, 260
Simonidis, L.L., 255, 260
Simpson, J.A., 75, 76, 77, 78, 80, 85, 89, 100, 102, 105, 117, 291, 306
Skinner, B.F., 160, 176
Skowronski, J.J., 372, 379, 392
Slade, A., 129, 145, 146, 151
Slott, N.E., 346, 260
Smallish, L., 130, 145, 147, 150
Smart, L., xii, xviii
Smith, B.E., 239, 256, 260
Smith, B., 256, 260
Smith, D.A.F., 376, 390
Smith, E.R., 4, 30
Smith, L.G., 68
Smith, M.D., 237, 240, 253, 263
Smith, R.H., 34, 35, 38, 43, 49, 69, 70
Snow, D.A., 254, 263
Snyder, C.R., 14, 30
Sohn, E.F., 255, 263
Solomon, R.C., 70
Solomon, S., 314, 326
Spacks, P.M., 104, 117
Spanier, G., 3, 14, 30
Spender, D., 106, 117
Sperber, D., 81, 85, 102
Sperling, M.B., 250, 263
Spirek, M.M., 253, 259
Spitzberg, B.H., xi, xii, xiii, xix, xxi, xxii, 6, 30, 47, 59, 67, 68, 77, 102, 238, 241, 243, 248, 253, 254, 255, 259, 260, 262,
263, 370, 373, 390
Sprecher, S., 4, 6, 30, 31, 272, 306
Stafford, L., 125, 152, 375, 392
Stamp, G.H., 93, 95, 101
Stanton, G.W., 159, 176
Starzomski, A., 249, 259
Stearns, C.Z., xii, xxii
Stearns, P.N., xii, xxii, 41, 42, 57, 70
Steiner, C.M., 160, 176
Steinglass, P., 158, 168, 176
Stenmark, D.E., 158, 176
Stephen, T., 6, 31
Sternberg, R.J., 310, 326
Stets, J.E., 57, 70
Stewart, T., 237, 259
Stillwell, A., 248, 251, 254, 258, 308, 316, 318, 321, 322, 325
Stinson, L., 79, 84, 100, 102
Stith, S.M., 251, 263
Straus, M.A., xii, xix
Street, R.L., 57, 70
Strikis, S.A., 236, 263
Stroebe, M., 370, 392
Stroebe, W., 370, 392
Strouse, J.S., 240, 262
Stuckless, N., 236, 263
Stuehling, J., 255, 260
Subby, R., 168, 176
Sugarman, D.B., 57, 70
Sullivan, E.V., 67
Sullivan, H.S., 382, 392
Sullivan, K.E., 246, 249, 262
Sullivan, Q., 4, 31
Sullivan, W.M., 317, 326
Sumrall, A.C., 304, 305
Sun Tzu 121, 152
Sunnafrank, M., 5, 31, 173
Surra, C., 4, 31, 79, 80, 102
Suzuki, T., 81, 102
Swain, M.A., 80, 101, 122, 151
Swenson, C., 84, 101
Swidler, A., 317, 326
Sypher, H.E., 88, 101

T
Tangney, J.P., 316, 326
Tannen, D., 106, 117
Tardiff, T.A., 371, 391
 
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Taylor, C.B., xix, 370, 372, 390
Taylor, D., 278, 306
Taylor, J.A., 110, 117
Taylor, P., 246, 263
Taylor, S.E., 314, 318, 326, 370, 372, 386, 390, 392
Tebbut, M., 105, 117
Tedeschi, J.T., xii, xxii
Teismann, M.W., 70
Teng, G., 77, 84, 101
Tennov, D., 25, 31, 270, 299, 306, 321, 326
Tesser, A., 60, 61, 70
Thibaut, J.W., 161, 176, 312, 326, 376, 385, 392
Thoennes, N., 237, 240, 248, 252, 255, 256, 263
Thomas, G., 76, 77, 78, 80, 84, 85, 96, 100, 102
Thomas, L., 104, 117
Thompson, E.H., 378, 392
Thompson, L., 3, 14, 30
Thompson, T., 77, 99
Tien, E., 303, 305
Timmereck, T.C., 248, 263
Ting-Toomey, S., 136, 143, 152
Tipton, S.M., 317, 325
Tjaden, P., 237, 240, 248, 252, 255, 256, 263
Tooke, W., xii, xxii, 92, 100
Tracy, L., 43, 70
Tremblay, S.W., 5, 29
Tronick, E., 163, 172, 173
Tseëlon, E., xii, xxii, 5, 16, 31
Turner, R.J., 380, 393
Tversky, A., 373, 388, 391
Twitchell, J.B., xii, xxii

U
Umberson, D., 370, 387, 391

V
Van Duyne, C., 237, 259
van Ginkel, C., 249, 259
Van Ryn, M., 371, 372, 375, 377, 385, 386, 387, 393
VanLear, A., 122, 152
Vatzlawick, P., 80, 81, 82, 94, 102
Vaughan, C., 16, 31
Vaughan, D., 286, 289, 306, 317, 322, 326
Veiel, H.O.F., 383, 393
Venardos, C., 85, 101
Veroff, J., 84, 99, 370, 393
Verstraete, C., 48, 50, 69
Vincent, J.P., 123, 149
Vinokur, A.D., 371, 372, 375, 377, 385, 386, 387, 393
Vinokur-Kaplan, D., 371, 393
Vinsel, A., 7, 29
Vogel, B., 123, 142, 144, 145, 148, 151
Vogt, D.S., 74, 77, 79, 99
Volkan, V.D., xii, xxii
Vonk R., 372, 393
Vuchinich, S., 124, 126, 128, 130, 133, 134, 152

W
Walfish, S., 158, 176
Walker, M.E., 171, 173
Wallace, H., 245, 252, 263
Walster, E., 310, 326
Walster, G.W., 310, 326
Walther, J.B., 253, 259
Wampold, B.E., 123, 124, 151
Wang, G., 174
Warner, P.K., 237, 263
Warren, J., 237, 259
Warren, L., 167, 172
Watson, L., xiii, xix, xxii
Watson, P.J., xii, xxii
Watt, J.H., 122, 152
Watzlawick, P., 165, 167, 176
Weakland, J.H., 94, 102, 167, 172
Weber, A.L., 6, 30, 86, 100, 270, 273, 275, 276, 287, 294, 300, 305, 306
Weeks, G.R., xii, xxii, 165, 171, 176
Weger, H., 88, 99
Wegscheider-Cruse, S., 157, 165, 176
Weil, A., 303, 306
Weiner, E.S.C., 105, 117
 
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Weisberg, J., 83, 90, 102, 136, 141, 142, 145, 149, 152
Weiss, R.L., 123, 149, 175
Weiss, R.S., 87, 102, 278, 279, 280, 284, 306
Welch, J.M., 236, 263
Wells, G.H., 305
Werner, C.M., 254, 263
Westrup, D., 238, 255, 260
Whalen, T., 158, 176
White, G.L., 34, 38, 42, 46, 47, 48, 50, 58, 70
White, T.K., 247, 262
Whitehead, P., 158, 171, 173
Whitehouse, J., 5, 31
Wiehe, V.R., 126, 152
Wiemann, J.M., xiii, xix
Wilder, C., 165, 176
Williams, A., 176
Williams, C.W., 243, 261
Williams, D., 250, 263
Williams, W.L., 256, 263
Wills, T.A., 370, 375, 376, 382, 390, 393
Wilmot, W.W., 90, 100, 147, 151, 152
Wilson, M., 241, 251, 253, 255, 260
Wilson, D., 81, 85, 102
Wilson, M., 68
Wincelberg, J.P., 147, 160
Winch, R.F., 26, 31
Winston, A., 370, 392
Wise, S., 163, 173
Wiseman, J.P., xii, xxii, 176
Witfield, C.L., 157, 161, 176
Witteman, H., 140, 152
Wojciszke, B., xvi, xxii, 379, 393
Wong, N.W., 376, 392
Wong, P.T., 69, 156
Wood, J.T., xiii, xix
Worchel, S., 13, 29
Wortman, C., 370, 376, 393
Wortman, S.R., 248, 251, 254, 258, 272, 284, 299, 305, 308, 310, 311, 313, 315, 316, 317, 318, 319, 320, 321, 322, 323,
325, 325
Wyer, M.M., xii, xix
Wyer, R.S., 81, 85, 95, 97, 101

Y
Yost, K., 79, 88, 101, 102
Young, A.M., 95, 99

Z
Zajonc, R.B., 4, 31
Zautra, A.J., 370, 374, 375, 377, 381, 384, 387, 390, 391, 393
Zeigarnik, B., 294, 306
Zemitis, O., 240, 253, 260
Zietlow, P.H., 80, 83, 88, 102
Zona, M.A., 239, 245, 246, 247, 249, 256, 263
Zonderman, A.B., 382, 390
Zuravin, S., xiii, xx
Zwirner, W., 129, 130, 151
 
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SUBJECT INDEX

A
Accounts and breakups, 271-275
definition, 273
epic narrative, 274
moral lesson, 274
Aggression, xii
Alcoholism, 342-346
anorexia nervosa, 346
bulimia nervosa nervosa, 346
eating disorders, 346-352
family relationships, 343-345, 347-349
nonfamilial relationships, 350-351
other mental health problems, 350
Anger, xii, xvii
Argument
couple types, 140-141
phases, 138-139
Assertiveness, xi, xii
Attachment; see Breakups, stages of
Attraction
disenchantment, 5
 homogamy, 6
matching hypothesis, 4
repulsion hypothesis, 5
Attractiveness, xi, xii

B
Betrayal, xiv
Boundaries, 374-375
impact, 374-375
negative experiences, 374-375
positive experiences, 374-375
Breakups, nonmarital
communication, 289-297
closure, 294
conclusion, 268-269
confrontation, 296
separation scripts, 290-291
coping, 270, 301-304
definition, 270-271
grief, 288
healing, 297-304
strategies, 300-304
impact, 283
models, 285-287
mechanical failure, 285
preexisting doom, 285
process loss, 285
sudden death, 285
phases of dissolution, 286-287
Duck's topographical model, 286-287
predictors, 282
process of, 267-277, 283
stages of, 278-282
 attachment, 281
loneliness, 279-280
obsessive review, 279
trajectories, see Communication

C
Child abuse, xii-xiii, xvii
Clarity, xii
 
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Codependence
altercentered, 162
control attempts, 160
convergence, 163-164
definition of, 156-157
discourse management, 164
immediacy, 162, 165
nurturance, 160
personality disorder, 157
Coercion,
definition of, 181
beffects of sexual coercion, 193-195
incidence of sexual coercion, 190-193
scope, 189-195
Coerciveness continuum, 183-184
accepted token resistance, 187
acquiescence, 186
attempted rape, 186
consent, 186
foregone sex, 187
refused sex, 187
respected nonconsent, 187
rape, 185
 sexual contact, 186
sexual pressure, 186
unwanted sex, 185
violated nonconsent, 185-186
Commitment, 271
Communication
and breakups
closure, 294
confrontation, 296
separation scripts, 290-291
Competence, xi, xii
Conflict, xv
and misunderstanding, 90-95
patterns
definition of, 122
flexibility, 131
reciprocity and, 123
types, 142-144
Consent
definition of, 181-182, 184-185
Control Theory
punishment, 169
reinforcement, 169
Cooperation, xii
Coping, see Breakups, Obsessive relational intrusion
Cults, xii

D
Deception, xi, xii
Deescalation, see Breakups
Depression, 334-340
family interaction, 337-339
interactional model of depression, 335-336
 personal relationships, 336-337
social skills, 334-335
Diathesis, 352
Disengagement, see Breakups
Dishonesty, see Honesty
Dissolution, see Breakups

E
Embarrassment, xii
Emotional health, 369-374
Empathy, xi, xii
Enmity, xii
Envy, xii
anger and, 49
antagonistic/antisocial behavior, 62-64
definition of, 36, 38
degradation, 39
disapproval, 39
emotional effects, 46
longing, 39
motivation, 39
paradox, 43-44
sadness, 51
self-evaluation maintenance, 61
self-identity, 37
Equivocation, xi
Equity theory, 310
Erotomania, 245-247, 249, 255
Ethics, see Morality
Evil, xiv, xv

F
Family, xi, xii,
see also Alcoholism, Depression
 approaches, 332-334
communication deviance, 332
expressed emotion, 332
personal relationships, 334
 
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Page 413
Fatal Attraction
definition, 3-4
familiarity and, 9, 26
gender and, 15
initiator of breakup, 16-17
physical and personality characteristics of, 16
physical attraction
predictors of, 17-21
rose-colored glasses, 9, 25
similarity-dissimilarity and, 13-14
sour grapes, 8-9, 25
theory of, 7-8, 13-15
Friendship, xi, xii

G
Gossip, xii
characteristics of gossipers, 108
definition, 105
functions of, 106
history, 104
preconditions of, 107-108
target, 109

H
Hate, xii, xii
Honesty, xi, xii, xiii
Humiliation, xii
Humor, xii, xv
Hurtful messages, xi

I
Independence theory, 313, 320, 324
Inference and communication, 95-97
Intimacy
and breakups, 277-278
Intrusive behaviors, 240, 241, 243, 244

J
Jealousy, see also Envy
anger, 48
definition of, 36, 38
distrust, 39
fear, 39, 46-47
integrative communication, 59
loneliness, 39
paradox, 40-41
possessiveness, 55
punishment, 57
retribution, 56
sadness, 50
satisfaction, 59
social comparison theory, 60
uncertainty, 39

L
Leadership, xii
Loneliness, 339-452
family relations, 341-342
personal relationships, 340-341
social anxiety, 342
Love, xiii,
see also Unrequited love
love lost, xiv
M
Mental health, 328-330
history of approaches
interpersonal circle, 329
interpersonal diagnosis of personality, 329
Misunderstanding,
ambiguity, 81-83, 98
certainty, 84, 98
characteristics of, 78-86
definition, 98
familiarity and, 78-81, 98
narrative properties, 86, 98
types, 73-74
understanding, 74-77
Morality, xi, xvi, xvii

N
Narcissism, xii
Norm violation, xiv
 
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Page 414

O
Obscenity, xii
Obsessive Relational Intrusion, 234-237, 241, 244, 247, 252, 257, 258, 325
behaviors, 241
characteristics of pursuers, 249-251
coping responses, 253, 255
definition of, 234, 235
effects of, 252-253
victim responses, 253-257
Obsessive relational pursuers, 245
characteristics of, 249-251
 love addiction, 248
types
borderline erotomanics, 245-247
erotomanics, 245-246, 249, 255
obsessional acquaintances, 247-248
obsessional estranged lovers, 248-249
Openness, xi, xii

P
Paradox, xi, xii, xiii, xv, 165-167
Parent-child interaction
asynchronous, 129
compliance, 129-130
synchronous, 129
third-party intervention, 135
Personal relationships, 369-374
benefits, 370
hazards, 371
negativity effect, 371-374
positive effect, 371-374
Physical abuse, xvii
Platonic relationships, 310-311, 313, 315, 320, 321
Politeness, xi, xii
Predicaments, xi
Privacy, xi
Psychological abuse, xvii

R
Rape, see Coercion, Coerciveness continuum
definition of, 181-183
Reciprocity
conflict patterns, 123
negative affect, 136
reactivity, 136
Regret, xiv
Relationship disengagement, see Breakups
Restraining orders, 255-257

S
Sadomasochism, xii
Same-sex relationships, xii
Schizophrenia, 330-334
double-bind theory, 330
early family approaches, 330-331
mystification communication, 331
schismatic pattern, 331
schism, 331
skew, 331
Scripts, 211-216,
see also Breakups
Self-esteem, xii
Sexual assault, 182
Sexual coercion, 195-201
biological theories, 195-196
gate keeping, 196-197
contextual theories, 198-199
interaction approach, 201-216
tactics, 201-207
context, 207-209
miscommunication, 209
motives, 209-210
perceptual differences, 210-211
interactional theories, 199-200
sociocultural and intrapsychic theories, 197-198
social learning theory, 197-198
Sibling interaction
agonistic, 126-127
 elaborated moves, 126, 128
imitative, 126-127
prosocial, 127-127
simple moves, 126, 128
Silence, conspiracy of, 313-319
Social exchange theory, 161
Social integration, 378
Social learning theory, 351
Social support, xii
Stalking, 235-240, 243, 244, 247-249, 252, 255, 256, 257-258, 325
definition of, 235
 
page_414