If we want to be right, or more accurately, if we want our predictions to conform to expected results, out judgements should cluster around the largest data sets. That’s the safest bet one should make. When meeting a stranger for the first time, you should expect them to be approximately of average looks, average intellect, average tastes, average opinions, etc. I am always struck when someone meets a friend of mine, then later confesses in private that they were expecting someone different. What pieces of data were used to cobble together the image of the person they thought they were meeting? I’m not even sure they would know beyond a rudimentary sense of how they came to form their initial assessment.

I suspect, though, many of us do not apply the law of averages in many circumstances. Hearing the mention of another is already enough to elevate that imagined person above and beyond our standard estimation, but above and beyond what? The average, something we are loathe to identify in ourselves. But this betrays our low opinion of averages and the attended connotations (e.g., ordinary, commonplace, trite, uninteresting, boring, dull, unremarkable, unintelligent, etc.) We live in the average and despise the average, whether from vanity or a need to think the story of our individual lives important enough to be told. To tell a story implies a remarkable, extraordinary event.

No wonder we are unhappy beasts. It would be far better to embrace the average, emphasize the remarkable found within the ordinary, and discard the negative connotations. Think of it in this way. An average dog smells at a capacity that far exceeds the most exceptional human. By contrast, the average human intellect greatly exceeds the smartest dog. The point is not to compare ourselves to others but to appreciate the extent of the spectrum. Within averages, truly remarkable things are happening.

Whenever someone says “I trust my gut.” I can’t help but think this is shorthand for “I overestimate my ability to make the right call.”

In thinking about the results of the Nisbett and Borgida helping experiment, I can only speculate about my own actions. If someone were choking, I would be inclined to leave my booth and act. But immediately I would be confronted with a dilemma. Act how? Do what? I am not an expert in dealing with seizures and choking. Would I have a makeshift item to wedge in someone’s mouth? Could I assist in propping up their head or holding them or calling paramedics? True, there’s a diffusion of responsibility but this is built upon the fact that a person choking becomes a collective action problem, a division of labor, a coordination of activities, as well as shared divided responsibility. It’s likely people became paralyzed in not knowing where they would fit into that collective action absent cuing and signalizing which is to say, someone projecting as an authority. It’s further complicated because we don’t want to get in the way, interfere, become unhelpful or even increase the chances of a person dying by taking some adverse course of action. It’s a fascinating dilemma which gives rise to the captain or the hero complex, a hope that someone can single-handedly guide our collective actions along this unsteady and dangerous path. Indeed, we often proceed along public situations as if driving along a road on auto-pilot guided by subtle cues, markers, and signals how to proceed. An emergency disrupts that normal flow but like traffic, we slow down or come to a complete halt feeling diminished in our power and capacity to alter our course.