Why pessimists call themselves Optimists

Ashok Ogra

ashokogra@gmail.com

"I am an optimist by nature." It is one of those declarations we hear with remarkable frequency. A few more: "I'm an eternal optimist." "I'm a born optimist." "I always look at the bright side," and so on.

In all likelihood, most of us have rarely heard anyone introduce themselves by saying, "I am a pessimist by nature." Nor do people readily volunteer, "I usually expect the worst."

It is not that pessimists don't exist in our society in great numbers. They certainly do. Even those who are habitually pessimistic often describe themselves as "realistic" or "practical" rather than pessimistic. Saying "I am a pessimist" sounds almost like admitting defeat before the contest has begun.

That is why, when we speak about ourselves, pessimism quietly slips out through the back door while optimism occupies centre stage.

This absence of self-declared pessimists tells us something about human nature and raises an intriguing question. Why do human beings instinctively describe themselves in favourable terms? Is there something deeper about the way we understand ourselves?

Is it because calling oneself an optimist is socially rewarding? Society applauds hope more readily than caution. We admire the entrepreneur who dreams, the student who believes, the athlete who persists and the explorer who ventures into the unknown. Even when evidence occasionally disappoints us, we continue investing in tomorrow. Optimism, in that sense, has become less a description than a badge of respectability.

Psychology has studied this tendency extensively. The broad idea is that people generally see themselves in a more favourable light than objective evidence might justify. Psychologists distinguish genuine optimism from what they call 'optimism bias'-our tendency to believe that favourable events are more likely to happen to us than unfavourable ones.

We readily acknowledge that diseases, accidents or financial setbacks occur, but quietly assume that they are somebody else's problem.

The investor believes the market correction will affect other portfolios. The smoker convinces himself that cancer is an unfortunate statistic rather than a personal possibility.

The owner of a Ferrari may drive through Delhi's crowded and undisciplined traffic fully aware of the risk of dents and scratches, yet somehow expects his prized car to emerge untouched.

Someone builds a house in a flood-prone area, knowing its history, but remains confident that the next flood will spare his home.

Another ignores repeated warnings about online fraud, convinced that scams happen only to less careful people.

We recognise risks easily enough; what we find difficult is imagining that they might actually happen to us.

We instinctively prefer to identify ourselves with possibility rather than resignation.

The late psychologist Martin Seligman argued that optimism is not simply wishful thinking. It is a way of interpreting setbacks as temporary rather than permanent, specific rather than universal. Properly understood, optimism helps people recover from adversity instead of surrendering to it.

That perhaps explains why very few people introduce themselves by saying, "I'm a pessimist by nature," even when their outlook is consistently pessimistic.

Contrast this with the old Delphic injunction, "Know thyself," which has endured for more than 2,500 years. It suggests that self-knowledge is one of the hardest achievements-not because we lack information about ourselves, but because we are naturally inclined to tell ourselves comforting stories. That idea links ancient philosophy, world literature and modern psychology in a remarkably consistent view of human nature.

Interestingly, nearly every culture has proverbs warning against excessive confidence, self-praise or misplaced optimism:

"Empty vessels make the most noise."

"Pride goes before a fall."

"Actions speak louder than words."

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch."

"Don't put all your eggs in one basket."

They remind us, in different ways, that confidence is useful, but certainty about the future can be deceptive. Such sayings imply that virtue is demonstrated through conduct, not proclaimed through self-description.

Perhaps complete objectivity is neither possible nor even healthy. A person who believes, "Things will somehow work out," may sometimes achieve more than someone whose assessment is perfectly accurate but chronically pessimistic.

Take our relationship with traffic. Every resident of Delhi, Mumbai or Bengaluru has uttered those immortal words, "I'll be there in ten minutes," while sitting firmly inside a traffic jam that appears to have acquired permanent citizenship. It is less a statement of geography than an act of faith.

Government offices provide another fascinating study in optimism. Long queues, formidable paperwork and mysterious files seldom discourage the newcomer. Every visitor who enters believes, "Perhaps my work will be completed today." Sometimes it is. Often it is not. But optimism ensures tomorrow's queue is equally long.

The Titanic offers a more dramatic example. The widespread confidence in its safety contributed to an atmosphere in which the possibility of catastrophe seemed remote. The larger lesson is memorable: confidence in the vessel became stronger than respect for the risks.

A restaurant loses customers month after month, but the owner keeps saying, "Next month will be better," without changing the menu, prices or service. Here optimism stops being resilience and becomes denial dressed as hope.

None of these examples should be examined under scientific conditions. They belong to that uniquely human category of hopeful conversation.

The challenge, then, is not to abandon optimism but to distinguish it from illusion.

Some psychologists have argued that mildly positive self-beliefs are not entirely undesirable. Such 'positive illusions' can promote resilience, perseverance and emotional well-being.

History itself supports the broader point. Nations that have endured wars, famines, partition, economic crises and pandemics do not survive merely because they possess resources. They survive because ordinary people continue believing that tomorrow deserves another attempt.

Even cricket offers lessons in collective psychology. Indian supporters possess an optimism that survives collapses, defeats and inexplicable batting performances with astonishing resilience. One disappointing series merely strengthens the belief that the next tournament will restore national glory. If optimism could be measured, cricket fans would consistently top the global rankings.

Of course, there are limits. Unchecked optimism can become complacency. Economists speak of irrational exuberance. Behavioural scientists warn against overconfidence. Medical professionals remind us that positive thinking is no substitute for preventive care.

Perhaps that explains why the wisest individuals rarely describe themselves using absolute labels. They are hopeful without being naïve. Confident without being arrogant. Cautious without surrendering to despair.

Meanwhile, I still hope that one day someone will surprise me by extending a hand and saying, "Good to meet you. I am a pessimist by nature."

I suspect I shall smile-not because I believe him, but because it would be such an unexpectedly optimistic thing to admit.

(The author works with Apeejay Education, New Delhi)