How to Choose a College

John Sexton: Okay.  Life is about balance.  Milton talked about L’Allegro and Il Penseroso.  Horace talked about The City Mouse and the Country Mouse.  People are different, but most people are a blend.  Students as they approach the choice of where they’re going to attend college have to use it, it seems to me, as a way of getting to know themselves.  So as my wife and I went through the choice of a college with our two children, the first thing we decided was this was not the time for us to speak.  It

was the time for us to help them use it as a process of understanding themselves.  So there are fundamental choices to be made.  Now, how would one end up coming down a pathway of choice to a school like NYU?  I say to students that come through on the tours and frequently the young ambassadors, the students that are showing people around, call me into the tours.  I look at a tour of 20 families and I say, “The chances that NYU is right for as many as three or four of the 20 of you are pretty low.  We’re probably right for fewer than three or four of you.  We are an eccentric version of what we are.  We are very aggressive about what we are.  Let me tell you what we are and show you the pathway that gets to us.  Then you’ve got to decide whether at this moment in your life you want to set the dial where we set the dial, because we are hyperstimulation.  We are an aggressive encounter with the other.  We are taking on complexity in a way that could be quite overwhelming.  We are deliberately cacophonous, but challenge you to change the cacophony into a symphony.  We’re all of those things.  For that to be right for a 17-year-old is a very, very aggressive proposition.”  So how would one move there?  The first question you should ask yourself, every student or parent that’s advising a student on the choice of a college is: Do I want to be going to college in a research university?  Henry Rosovsky, the dean of Harvard for years, Jaroslav Pelican, the dean of Yale, even I, in my humble way have written on what the case is for going to a research university, as opposed to one of America’s great liberal arts colleges like the Vassars

and the Amhursts and the Williams and the Grinnells.  What’s the difference?  The difference is that at a research university, if the research university is operating correctly, you can actually be present at the creation of ideas.  I’ll give you an example.  A man named David Levering Lewis came to NYU six years ago.  Now David Levering Lewis is the only person who has won the Pulitzer Prize both for Volume One and Volume Two of the same biography.  He won it twice, Volume One and Volume Two of his biography of DuBois.  He’s the world’s leading expert on DuBois.  So David comes and he’s going to be a university professor.  I’m very proud that at NYU, all of our university professors teach first semester seminars to freshmen.  It’s designed to give the freshmen a glimpse of idea creation right there at the beginning of their education.  I’ve taught one of these myself for 20 years.  I say to David, “I want you to teach one of these seminars.”  He says, “Fine.  Should I do it on DuBois?”  I said, “Absolutely not.  You’re finished thinking about DuBois.  You’ve just won two Pulitzers for DuBois.  What is a subject about which you’d like to begin thinking, so that the freshmen can see you as you’re beginning your thought process and working through your thought process over the years?”  He said, “I’d like to think about the coming together of the three religions of Abraham in Spain in the 9th, 10th and 11th centuries.”  I said, “That’s it.  Teach a course on that.”  For five years he taught a freshmen seminar on that subject.  Out of that, his great book God’s Crucible came, an 11-page review in The New Yorker, a favorable review in The New York Times.  But those freshmen in the first semester of being at NYU saw

that book being formed in his mind and worked with him doing it.  That is a research university education.  Now, there are some students for whom being in that class or the equivalent of that class in science or in any of the subjects is magical.  There are others who are going to go through and take either plain vanilla courses or want a foundation in the great books or any number of other things that are perfectly legitimate.  This is not a moral choice; it’s a choice of individual appetites.  Do you want to be in a research university or not?  Do you want to be in a large research university or in a moderately sized one?  Do you want to be in a city?  How do you want to be in that city?  Do you want to be in the city which is the world’s first glocal city?  How serious are you about taking on complexity?  Now you’re inside NYU, if you’ve answered all those questions affirmatively.  You’re now inside NYU.  Now the questions are not over with.  We have inside NYU eight undergraduate colleges.  Do you want a professionally tinged undergraduate education?  Then you would go to the undergraduate Business School or the undergraduate School of the Arts or the undergraduate School of Nursing, the undergraduate School of Education.  Do you want a liberal arts education?  Let’s assume that like many, you want a liberal arts education.  It’s a great American invention.  We still have three different ways for you to do a liberal arts education.  Do you want the

college liberal arts education?  Is a classic research university education rigorous, has these university seminars, your distribution over the range of courses followed by a major?  Or do you want individualized study, the Gallatin School, where you can carve up your own way to do the liberal arts and be completely eccentric about it and there aren’t many distribution requirements?  Or do you want what we’re calling a liberal studies undergraduate approach, which is like a great books approach?  All of this is a highly complex decision.  I’m giving you kind of an NYU cut into it.  But the basic thing you’ve chosen if you’ve chosen NYU is complexity and hyperstimulation.  What have you left behind?  What you’ve left behind is the life of Il Penseroso, the contemplative time.  Of course, that’s something you’ve left behind that you should leave behind consciously and that you should take steps to incorporate into your life.  I mean I live this hyperstimulated life as the president of NYU.  But I make sure that regularly I’m on the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon.  Twenty times I’ve been to the Colorado River.  For the full seven days minimum or 14 days maximum where time slows and you’re in the presence of a geological clock of two billion years and you feel simultaneously the wonder of God’s creation and your insignificance on the one hand and on the other hand, the tremendous magnificence of human love and the transcendence of the human spirit that

stands and says, “No, no.  Even in the face of two billion years of geology, I am significant and worthy.”  That yin and yang comes there.  Yes, we all need contemplative time.  If you’re in the hyperstimulated world of NYU where it would be very easy to get caught up in nothing by stimulation, you have to learn the skill of finding contemplation, just as if you’re in the more classic small liberal arts college with all the contemplative time of which Il Penserosa dreamed.  It’s important every now and then to become L’Allegro and to enjoy the dance and to enjoy the party or to come to the city. 

Recorded on 5/19/08

The case against attending an undergraduate research university.

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Why compassion fades

A scientific look into a ubiquitous phenomenon.

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Sex & Relationships

One victim can break our hearts. Remember the image of the young Syrian boy discovered dead on a beach in Turkey in 2015? Donations to relief agencies soared after that image went viral. However, we feel less compassion as the number of victims grows. Are we incapable of feeling compassion for large groups of people who suffer a tragedy, such as an earthquake or the recent Sri Lanka Easter bombings? Of course not, but the truth is we aren't as compassionate as we'd like to believe, because of a paradox of large numbers. Why is this?

Compassion is a product of our sociality as primates. In his book, The Expanding Circle: Ethics, Evolution, and Moral Progress, Peter Singer states, "Human beings are social animals. We were social before we were human." Mr. Singer goes on to say, "We can be sure that we restrained our behavior toward our fellows before we were rational human beings. Social life requires some degree of restraint. A social grouping cannot stay together if its members make frequent and unrestrained attacks on one another."

Attacks on ingroups can come from forces of nature as well. In this light, compassion is a form of expressed empathy to demonstrate camaraderie.

Yet even after hundreds of centuries of evolution, when tragedy strikes beyond our community, our compassion wanes as the number of displaced, injured, and dead mounts.

The drop-off in commiseration has been termed the collapse of compassion. The term has also been defined in The Oxford Handbook of Compassion Science: ". . . people tend to feel and act less compassionately for multiple suffering victims than for a single suffering victim."

That the drop-off happens has been widely documented, but at what point this phenomenon happens remains unclear. One paper, written by Paul Slovic and Daniel Västfjäll, sets out a simple formula, ". . . where the emotion or affective feeling is greatest at N =1 but begins to fade at N = 2 and collapses at some higher value of N that becomes simply 'a statistic.'"

The ambiguity of "some higher value" is curious. That value may relate to Dunbar's Number, a theory developed by British anthropologist, Robin Dunbar. His research centers on communal groups of primates that evolved to support and care for larger and larger groups as their brains (our brains) expanded in capacity. Dunbar's is the number of people with whom we can maintain a stable relationship — approximately 150.

Some back story

Professor Robin Dunbar of the University of Oxford has published considerable research on anthropology and evolutionary psychology. His work is informed by anthropology, sociology and psychology. Dunbar's Number is a cognitive boundary, one we are likely incapable of breaching. The number is based around two notions; that brain size in primates correlates with the size of the social groups they live among and that these groups in human primates are relative to communal numbers set deep in our evolutionary past. In simpler terms, 150 is about the maximum number of people with whom we can identify with, interact with, care about, and work to protect. Dunbar's Number falls along a logorithmic continuum, beginning with the smallest, most emotionally connected group of five, then expanding outward in multiples of three: 5, 15, 50, 150. The numbers in these concentric circles are affected by multiple variables, including the closeness and size of immediate and extended families, along with the greater cognitive capacity of some individuals to maintain stable relationships with larger than normal group sizes. In other words, folks with more cerebral candlepower can engage with larger groups. Those with lesser cognitive powers, smaller groups.

The number that triggers "compassion collapse" might be different for individuals, but I think it may begin to unravel along the continuum of Dunbar's relatable 150. We can commiserate with 5 to 15 to 150 people because upon those numbers, we can overlay names and faces of people we know: our families, friends and coworkers, the members of our clan. In addition, from an evolutionary perspective, that number is important. We needed to care if bands of our clan were being harmed by raids, disaster, or disease, because our survival depended on the group staying intact. Our brains developed the capacity to care for the entirety of the group but not beyond it. Beyond our ingroup was an outgroup that may have competed with us for food and safety and it served us no practical purpose to feel sad that something awful had happened to them, only to learn the lessons so as to apply them for our own survival, e.g., don't swim with hippos.


Imagine losing 10 family members in a house fire. Now instead, lose 10 neighbors, 10 from a nearby town, 10 from Belgium, 10 from Vietnam 10 years ago. One could almost feel the emotion ebbing as the sentence drew to a close.

There are two other important factors which contribute to the softening of our compassion: proximity and time. While enjoying lunch in Santa Fe, we can discuss the death toll in the French revolution with no emotional response but might be nauseated to discuss three children lost in a recent car crash around the corner. Conflict journalists attempt to bridge these geotemporal lapses but have long struggled to ignite compassion in their home audience for far-flung tragedies, Being a witness to carnage is an immense stressor, but the impact diminishes across the airwaves as the kilometers pile up.

A Dunbar Correlation

Where is the inflection point at which people become statistics? Can we find that number? In what way might that inflection point be influenced by the Dunbar 150?

"Yes, the Dunbar number seems relevant here," said Gad Saad, PhD., the evolutionary behavioral scientist from the John Molson School of Business at Concordia University, Montreal, in an email correspondence. Saad also recommended Singer's work.

I also went to the wellspring. I asked Professor Dunbar by email if he thought 150 was a reasonable inflection point for moving from compassion into statistics. He graciously responded, lightly edited for space.

Professor Dunbar's response:

"The short answer is that I have no idea, but what you suggest is perfect sense. . . . One-hundred and fifty is the inflection point between the individuals we can empathize with because we have personal relationships with them and those with whom we don't have personalized relationships. There is, however, also another inflection point at 1,500 (the typical size of tribes in hunter-gatherer societies) which defines the limit set by the number of faces we can put names to. After 1,500, they are all completely anonymous."

I asked Dunbar if he knows of or suspects a neurophysiological aspect to the point where we simply lose the capacity to manage our compassion:

"These limits are underpinned by the size of key bits of the brain (mainly the frontal lobes, but not wholly). There are a number of studies showing this, both across primate species and within humans."

In his literature, Professor Dunbar presents two reasons why his number stands at 150, despite the ubiquity of social networking: the first is time — investing our time in a relationship is limited by the number of hours we have available to us in a given week. The second is our brain capacity measured in primates by our brain volume.

Friendship, kinship and limitations

"We devote around 40 percent of our available social time to our 5 most intimate friends and relations," Dunbar has written, "(the subset of individuals on whom we rely the most) and the remaining 60 percent in progressively decreasing amounts to the other 145."

These brain functions are costly, in terms of time, energy and emotion. Dunbar states, "There is extensive evidence, for example, to suggest that network size has significant effects on health and well-being, including morbidity and mortality, recovery from illness, cognitive function, and even willingness to adopt healthy lifestyles." This suggests that we devote so much energy to our own network that caring about a larger number may be too demanding.

"These differences in functionality may well reflect the role of mentalizing competencies. The optimal group size for a task may depend on the extent to which the group members have to be able to empathize with the beliefs and intentions of other members so as to coordinate closely…" This neocortical-to-community model carries over to compassion for others, whether in or out of our social network. Time constrains all human activity, including time to feel.

As Dunbar writes in The Anatomy of Friendship, "Friendship is the single most important factor influencing our health, well-being, and happiness. Creating and maintaining friendships is, however, extremely costly, in terms of both the time that has to be invested and the cognitive mechanisms that underpin them. Nonetheless, personal social networks exhibit many constancies, notably in their size and their hierarchical structuring." Our mental capacity may be the primary reason we feel less empathy and compassion for larger groups; we simply don't have the cerebral apparatus to manage their plights. "Part of friendship is the act of mentalizing, or mentally envisioning the landscape of another's mind. Cognitively, this process is extraordinarily taxing, and as such, intimate conversations seem to be capped at about four people before they break down and form smaller conversational groups. If the conversation involves speculating about an absent person's mental state (e.g., gossiping), then the cap is three — which is also a number that Shakespeare's plays respect."

We cannot mentalize what is going on in the minds of people in our groups much beyond our inner circle, so it stands to reason we cannot do it for large groups separated from us by geotemporal lapses.

Emotional regulation

In a paper, C. Daryl Cameron and Keith B. Payne state, "Some researchers have suggested that [compassion collapse] happens because emotions are not triggered by aggregates. We provide evidence for an alternative account. People expect the needs of large groups to be potentially overwhelming, and, as a result, they engage in emotion regulation to prevent themselves from experiencing overwhelming levels of emotion. Because groups are more likely than individuals to elicit emotion regulation, people feel less for groups than for individuals."

This argument seems to imply that we have more control over diminishing compassion than not. To say, "people expect the needs of large groups to be potentially overwhelming" suggests we consciously consider what that caring could entail and back away from it, or that we become aware that we are reaching and an endpoint of compassion and begin to purposely shift the framing of the incident from one that is personal to one that is statistical. The authors offer an alternative hypothesis to the notion that emotions are not triggered by aggregates, by attempting to show that we regulate our emotional response as the number of victims becomes perceived to be overwhelming. However, in the real world, for example, large death tolls are not brought to us one victim at a time. We are told, about a devastating event, then react viscerally.

If we don't begin to express our emotions consciously, then the process must be subconscious, and that number could have evolved to where it is now innate.

Gray matter matters

One of Dunbar's most salient points is that brain capacity influences social networks. In his paper, The Social Brain, he writes: "Path analysis suggests that there is a specific causal relationship in which the volume of a key prefrontal cortex subregion (or subregions) determines an individual's mentalizing skills, and these skills in turn determine the size of his or her social network."

It's not only the size of the brain but in fact, mentalizing recruits different regions for ingroup empathy. The Stanford Center for Compassion and Altruism Research and Education published a study of the brain regions activated when showing empathy for strangers in which the authors stated, "Interestingly, in brain imaging studies of mentalizing, participants recruit more dorsal portions of the medial prefrontal cortex (dMPFC; BA 8/9) when mentalizing about strangers, whereas they recruit more ventral regions of the medial prefrontal cortex (BA 10), similar to the MPFC activation reported in the current study, when mentalizing about close others with whom participants experience self-other overlap."⁷

It's possible the region of the brain that activates to help an ingroup member evolved for good reason, survival of the group. Other regions may have begun to expand as those smaller tribal groups expanded into larger societies.

Rabbit holes

There is an eclectic list of reasons why compassion may collapse, irrespective of sheer numbers:

(1) Manner: How the news is presented affects viewer framing. In her book, European Foreign Conflict Reporting: A Comparative Analysis of Public News, Emma Heywood explores how tragedies and war are offered to the viewers, which can elicit greater or lesser compassionate responses. "Techniques, which could raise compassion amongst the viewers, and which prevail on New at Ten, are disregarded, allowing the victims to remain unfamiliar and dissociated from the viewer. This approach does not encourage viewers to engage with the sufferers, rather releases them from any responsibility to participate emotionally. Instead compassion values are sidelined and potential opportunities to dwell on victim coverage are replaced by images of fighting and violence."

(2) Ethnicity. How relatable are the victims? Although it can be argued that people in western countries would feel a lesser degree of compassion for victims of a bombing in Karachi, that doesn't mean people in countries near Pakistan wouldn't feel compassion for the Karachi victims at a level comparable to what westerners might feel about a bombing in Toronto. Distance has a role to play in this dynamic as much as in the sound evolutionary data that demonstrate a need for us to both recognize and empathize with people who look like our communal entity. It's not racism; it's tribalism. We are simply not evolved from massive heterogeneous cultures. As evolving humans, we're still working it all out. It's a survival mechanism that developed over millennia that we now struggle with as we fine tune our trust for others.

In the end

Think of compassion collapse on a grid, with compassion represented in the Y axis and the number of victims running along the X. As the number of victims increases beyond one, our level of compassion is expected to rise. Setting aside other variables that may raise compassion (proximity, familiarity etc.), the level continues to rise until, for some reason, it begins to fall precipitously.

Is it because we've become aware of being overwhelmed or because we have reached max-capacity neuron load? Dunbar's Number seems a reasonable place to look for a tipping point.

Professor Dunbar has referred to the limits of friendship as a "budgeting problem." We simply don't have the time to manage a bigger group of friends. Our compassion for the plight of strangers may drop of at a number equivalent to the number of people with who we can be friends, a number to which we unconsciously relate. Whether or not we solve this intellectual question, it remains a curious fact that the larger a tragedy is, the more likely human faces are to become faceless numbers.