The Dalai Lama, as well as other authorities, instructs us unequivocally to pay attention to others’ suffering (Dalai Lama XIV, 2001; Dalai Lama XIV & Cutler, 1998). Indeed, it is broadly accepted that, as a policy, ignoring others’ suffering is, at best, morally lacking.
This seemingly unquestionable calling — to pay attention to others’ suffering — does, however, raise a question: How does it make the world a better place? What is the upside of reflecting on others’ suffering?
Granted, paying attention to information beyond one’s own story broadens one’s perspective, which is functionally beneficial. However, that alone does not seem to be the complete answer; there has to be more to it than just that.
Sincere contemplation of the horrific conditions to which a substantial fraction of the human race is subjected readily leads to self-righteous indignation but not much more, which, in and of itself, does not make the world a better place.
Paying attention to the suffering of the innocent, especially children, normally triggers guilt, frustration, helplessness, and even despair, which doesn’t do anyone any good; the disenfranchised certainly reap no benefit from it. If anything, the world becomes slightly worse with every additional person burdened by irrational guilt, frustration, and despair.
Therein lies the double bind: Ignoring others’ suffering is morally wrong and thus extremely unlikely to support the pursuit of happiness. The alternative — actively paying attention to the suffering of others — doesn’t seem much better if all it accomplishes is eliciting a negative mental state; yet, instinctively, it seems like the right path.
Given that I believe the Dalai Lama is trustworthy on the subject and that ignoring others’ suffering is viscerally repugnant, there must be a way to attend to others’ suffering that can potentially yield something positive.
The following is an approach to the suffering around us that stands a realistic chance of meeting this demand, i.e., of yielding a positive result (even if modest, it is still better than nothing). It is common-sensical and straightforward, and implementing it is not particularly complicated or challenging — but it does require some practice.
The two main positive mental attributes that can be fortified through contemplating others’ suffering are gratitude and self-confidence.
Gratitude
The practical benefits and psychological rewards of gratitude have been recognized for at least 3,000 years and are supported by modern research (Emmons & McCullough, 2003; Wood et al., 2009; Wood et al., 2010). The command to bless God after meals (Deuteronomy 8:10) is one of the oldest formalized practices of gratitude, demonstrating that thankfulness was embedded in daily life from the earliest Israelite period. Clearly, the importance of gratitude has not faded over the millennia, and the relevance of “counting your blessings” remains firm today as it ever was.
The first step in the mindful approach to others’ suffering is to use it as a reminder to count your blessings. The associated mental practice is fairly self-explanatory: When you think about others’ suffering, make a deliberate effort to bring attention to something you possess that is valuable to you, i.e., a blessing (it can, but doesn’t have to be, a material possession; e.g., good health, a loving relationship, or a freedom). Simply let the recognition of others’ suffering be a reminder of what you appreciate having in your life, especially things you might otherwise take for granted. With enough repetition, it will become automatic, essentially second nature.
For example, if you think about famine victims in Africa, reflect for a minute on the luxury of mundane access to your local grocery store. Or, if you attend to the plight of the homeless, make sure to bring attention to the splendor of having a home and the opulence of having a bed to sleep in. (This also works in reverse, i.e., appreciating the value of something you have can be a reminder to pay attention to the suffering of others.)
Gratitude is defined as targeted appreciation. The practice of cultivating it, therefore, is composed of two parts: in the first part, the practitioner “counts their blessings.” That is, by bringing attention to something in their life they consider a blessing, one generates appreciation for it. The second part, where appreciation is upgraded to actual gratitude, comes down to identifying the specific, rightful recipient(s) of the gratitude — the agent(s) responsible for the practitioner having what they appreciate (it goes without saying that in the Judeo-Christian tradition, the target, the ever-present recipient of human gratitude, is God).
[Sidebar: 1. Gratitude is discussed in detail elsewhere in this work. The following is a brief review of the key points (for a comprehensive appreciation of gratitude and the practice of cultivating it, I’m afraid you’ll have to read the chapter dedicated to it): Gratitude is defined as targeted appreciation, which means it has two components — an appreciation of the value of something one possesses, and a recognition of the source responsible for one’s possession of that thing (i.e., the source is the target at which the appreciation is aimed). Categorically, there are three possible recipients for gratitude: God (or one’s “lucky star,” for the staunchly atheistic), a person, and one’s earlier self; when practicing cultivating gratitude, all three must be considered. Without a clear target, the sentiment falls short of gratitude and remains at the level of mere appreciation.
The functional importance of gratitude is related to the cardinal importance of acceptance. Acceptance is critical because it is the only link with one’s present Reality that works. To function effectively in any circumstance, the Reality of the situation must first be accepted as it is. (For example, the genius behind the traditional opening statement in AA meetings (i.e., “my name is _____, and I am an alcoholic”) underscores that acceptance of one’s addiction is a non-negotiable entry-level requirement on the road to recovery.) Under normal conditions, when one’s Reality is not far from one’s basic wishes, acceptance happens automatically and effortlessly (to the point that most of the time we don’t even recognize our brain is doing it). However, this changes when circumstances become difficult. A harsh Reality, i.e., when circumstances are far from what one wishes they would be, can challenge one’s capacity to accept it. The harsher the reality (as it registers subjectively), the more challenging it becomes to accept. Therein lies the functional importance of gratitude — it promotes acceptance.
In other words, under challenging circumstances, when the brain recognizes even a sliver to which it can relate with genuine gratitude, accepting that reality as a whole becomes easier. For example, when a loved one passes away, thoughts along the lines of “they are in a better place” or “their suffering is over” are common, almost automatic. These thoughts focus on what one can be grateful for, which supports acceptance of the loss.
The bottom line is that gratitude promotes acceptance covertly, which, in turn, improves mental functioning and ultimately enhances operational efficiency. Therein lies its functional reward and the justification for cultivating it (i.e., that’s why when you were a child, your parents kept insisting that you “say thank you”).]
The primary potential pitfall to avoid when implementing this simple mental sequence is the triggering of irrational guilt. To reduce this risk, let’s examine guilt in some detail.
Guilt is a mental pain. In general, pain is not the problem — it is a signal designed to bring one’s attention to a problem. As such, guilt plays a profoundly important role in the human condition at both the individual and societal levels. Guilt protects by helping one refrain from actions likely to lead to trouble; typically, actions driven by an intent that is less than fair (i.e., selfish or self-centered). The correct approach to guilt holds together the recognition that it is a valuable (albeit unpleasant) signal that requires and deserves attention with the realization that it is not a particularly reliable signal, i.e., that guilt (like all forms of pain) can be a phantom pain, or in other words, that feeling guilty is not synonymous with being guilty (Tangney et al., 2007; Tilghman-Osborne et al., 2010). The mindful approach to guilt, then, is founded on the willingness to examine it rationally and, depending on the outcome of the examination, accept or reject its validity.
Practically, the sensation of guilt should be taken as a call to calmly examine the associated intent: If it is fair or better, the guilt is a phantom pain. If it is less than fair (or unclear) it may be valid, signaling the need for corrective action — typically, a change of plans (i.e., refraining from implementing the guilt-inducing act; if the valid guilt presents after the fact, it should trigger taking ownership of the misconduct in some way, from extending an apology to making restitution). Additionally, and at least as importantly, valid guilt feelings must serve as an indication to avoid similar transgressions in the future.
However, if the examination reveals that the guilt feeling is invalid, it should be labeled as a phantom pain and dismissed. Examples of feeling guilty because one can, not because one is, include a grade school teacher in New York who feels guilty watching images of famine victims in Africa, or a Seattle accountant who feels guilty about the homelessness epidemic in the US.
The tendency to accept feelings of guilt as evidence of actual guilt, without a rational basis, is remarkably common. Essentially, it’s a habitual tendency to be “on the safe side,” driven by cultural conditioning and the subconscious fear of being ostracized, which run deep and can be difficult to transcend. Developing the habit of paying close attention to one’s intent usually evolves into a reliable, effective method to handle guilt and is therefore a practice worth investing in. (Intent is discussed in detail in the dedicated chapter.)
The correct appreciation of intent requires a working grasp of fairness. Most people struggle to articulate what constitutes fairness, let alone define it — typically relying on their feelings to make the distinction. This is profoundly inadequate in general and, specifically, in the face of acute guilt feelings.
The most practically useful definition of fairness is the following: Fairness is the adherence to an agreement or a contract. A vital takeaway from this definition is that, in the absence of a contract, there is no basis for determining whether a given situation is fair or unfair. Hence, statements along the lines of “it is unfair that some people have so much ______ (talent, money, clout, etc.) and others have so little” are nonsensical. Reality may unfold in ways that are far from what you wish for (arguably, it may even be inherently morally problematic). Still, Reality is neither fair nor unfair because we don’t have a contract with it, and an imaginary contract cannot be violated.
This brief review seems warranted because paying attention to the suffering of others often triggers guilt, which, most of the time, is a phantom pain. Embracing unfounded guilt has no upside — it doesn’t alleviate suffering in the present, nor does it reduce the likelihood of its future occurrence. If anything, it interferes with paying attention to others’ suffering in general and makes the benefits that it can promote seem inappropriate. Conversely, rejecting unfounded guilt in favor of a mindful practice can improve one’s state of mind and, ultimately, the quality of the choices one makes.
Granted, this may amount to only a microscopic step in the right direction; it will not solve any universal problem. Still, it is better than nothing; certainly, it’s better than a step (of any size) in the wrong direction.
Moreover, the cumulative impact of gratitude and its downstream effects is incalculable. This means it may be negligible, monumental, or anything in between. All that can be said about it with confidence is that it is likely to be positive and, therefore, it is inherently valuable.
Gratitude, then, offers a way out of the aforementioned double bind — a way to attend to suffering that cultivates something positive, i.e., acceptance, rather than despair. The second attribute worth cultivating is self-confidence, specifically, confidence in our ability to endure what we may have to.
Self-Confidence
The second positive mental attribute that can be cultivated by paying attention to others’ suffering is self-confidence — specifically, confidence in one’s ability to endure whatever one may encounter.
Similar to gratitude, an instance in which a person gains confidence in their ability to meet the demands of their day will not solve any global problems. However, as a mental event on an individual level, a justifiable acquisition of self-confidence — i.e., the reduction of irrational self-doubt — is a positive change. It too may only amount to a microscopic step, but as long as it is a step in the right direction, it is better than nothing and, certainly, it’s better than a step of any size in the wrong direction. Movement in the right direction is inherently valuable, regardless of its magnitude.
The fundamental link between paying attention to others’ suffering and cultivating self-confidence is quite apparent. Attending to others’ suffering contributes to self-confidence by eliciting thoughts along the lines of “if _______ (any other person) can handle a level of suffering so much greater than what I’m likely to face, I shouldn’t doubt my ability to deal with whatever the day brings my way.”
It brings to mind the timeless poetic quote, “I cried because I had no shoes until I saw a man who had no feet” (which, as it surprisingly turns out, is not a Bob Dylan line but rather attributed to the Persian poet Sa’di in the Gulistan, 1258 CE).
Paying attention to a man dealing with the hardship of losing his feet somehow eased the shoeless poet’s suffering, which raises the question: how, specifically, did noticing the double amputee work to alleviate the poet’s suffering (to the point that he stopped crying)?”
The answer has two parts. One part pertains to the discussion above — it elicited the poet’s gratitude for having feet, which, secondarily, made it easier to accept the reality of shoelessness and the implied poverty.
The second part pertains to the discussion that follows: Paying attention to the suffering of the double amputee made the poet stop crying because he felt less sorry for himself. Relative to a man with no feet, the poet perceived himself as less unfortunate, less disenfranchised, and less fragile than he felt before. Seeing a man manage to get by without feet helped the poet gain trust in his ability to get by without shoes — obviously a lesser challenge. In other words, it boosted his confidence in his ability to endure the hardship of poverty.
This straightforward interpretation relies on two somewhat veiled concepts: the Law of Sameness and the nature of human dignity. These concepts are central to our discussion and deserve exploration.
For the suffering of another person to serve as a reminder that one can handle one’s own suffering (and much more), the two must be the same, at least with regard to the suffering at hand. For example, if the footless man had wings and could fly, he would not have inspired the same response.
The point is that paying attention to others’ suffering can contribute to one’s self-confidence, provided one is aware of the Law of Sameness. (The Law of Sameness is discussed in detail elsewhere. Briefly, it states that all members of a given species share the species-defining traits; or, even more briefly, that, in essence, we are all the same.)
Attending to others’ suffering while simultaneously ignoring the Law of Sameness manifests as pity, which is, at best, worthless. Pity mimics compassion and is therefore easily confused with it. Compassion, however, is invaluable, as it is a prerequisite for pursuing happiness effectively (see Jazaieri et al., 2014).
The main functional difference between these superficially similar states of mind is that the pitying mind perceives its Self as somehow fundamentally different from the sufferer. The compassionate mind — operating with clarity about the Law of Sameness — sees the Self and the suffering other as no different.
[Sidebar: Since, according to Buddhist thinking, the Law of Sameness is synonymous with the Law of Interconnectedness, the compassionate mind recognizes that the Self is inseparable from the suffering other.]
The distinction between pity and compassion deserves emphasis, as the two are easily confused yet are radically different. A pitying mind looks at suffering and thinks, “I could never handle that” — it separates the Self from the sufferer, and it lacks self-confidence. The compassionate mind looks at the same suffering and thinks, “That could be me (perhaps even “it is me, just not right now”) and, subsequently, “because we are the same, if they can endure it, so could I.” This point of view underscores our shared capacity for dignity.
To illustrate this, imagine someone you know who is gravely ill. Your pity would render them diminished, and moreover, consciously or subconsciously, dealing with them would make you uncomfortable, even frightened (of getting sick yourself). On the other hand, if you encounter them with compassion, you would be recognizing their strength and trusting their ability to endure what they must with dignity. And, based on the sameness you share, you would trust your own ability to endure what you may have to with no less dignity. The first approach makes both parties smaller; the second affirms the humanity of both.
Or consider a different scenario — imagine that on your way home on a cold winter day, you come across a severely handicapped panhandler sitting quietly in a wheelchair, bundled in tattered blankets. If the encounter triggers thoughts like “I couldn’t handle it if this were my lot in life” or “I don’t think I could survive under such conditions,” it elicits pity, which actually undermines self-confidence, even if subconsciously.
Alternatively, with an unwavering realization of the sameness you share with the handicapped panhandler (and with all human beings), witnessing his or her suffering would trigger a thought along the lines of “If and when my time comes to encounter such suffering, I will handle it at least as well as this person does — because we are the same,” or, more pointedly, “When it is my time to encounter suffering, I will meet it with no less dignity.”
An essential aspect of paying attention to the suffering of others is to notice how ordinary people meet their suffering, even extreme suffering, with dignity. The capacity to maintain dignity in the face of suffering is an often-overlooked — yet astounding — defining human trait.
Therein lies the glory of the ordinary: The glory of the ordinary is displayed when ordinary human beings maintain dignity in the face of extraordinary suffering.
[Sidebar: As I see it, the quote widely attributed to Abraham Lincoln — “God must love the common people, he made so many of them” — refers to the divine glory of ordinary dignity.]
In our sameness, we are all ordinary. This is in no way a put-down, given the undisputable glory of the ordinary, which is most evident in the awe-inspiring normal ability to retain dignity in the face of even horrific suffering. (Granted, sudden, acute suffering can cause a momentary loss of mental balance; such loss of balance manifests as involuntary flailing, which may be incompatible with maintaining dignity; still, if that happens, it typically lasts only a short time. Once balance is reestablished, the flailing stops and the capacity to act with dignity and grace is recovered.)
An unwavering awareness of the sameness we all share, coupled with recognition of the glorious human capacity to maintain dignity in the face of suffering, automatically supports self-assurance. The knowledge that, as ordinary humans, we can meet whatever suffering awaits us with dignity is empowering and thus bolsters self-confidence.
True to form (as you know if you read any of this work), I am now compelled to briefly reflect on the concept of ‘dignity.’ Clearly, dignity is a positive mental attribute that, like so many other often-used concepts, is generally poorly defined, if at all. (Again, I encourage you to take a minute to convince yourself of this: Of course, you are familiar with the feelings associated with dignity and, perhaps even more so, with its absence. But can you define dignity? Can you say what it is?)
Dignity can be defined as the sensation that automatically follows the conviction that one has made the right choice and acted righteously. It is a positive sensation triggered by doing the right thing. As such, I consider dignity a built-in reward for righteousness (Hicks, 2011; Jacobson, 2009).
[Sidebar: While we are on the topic of dignity, here is a bonus definition — of Grace. Grace can be defined as the appearance of dignity. That is, when we observe someone act with dignity, they appear graceful, i.e., we notice their grace.]
The threat of losing dignity runs deep, even if it is not recognized consciously. The “generic” universal worst nightmare is a situation so horrific that it robs one of the ability to maintain one’s dignity. Arguably, the “mother of all fears” (consciously or subconsciously) is the fear of encountering suffering that causes one to lose one’s mind, i.e., to lose the ability to tell right from wrong, which is the loss of one’s ability to maintain ordinary human dignity (it is, by the way, the unique horror of mental illness).
Paying attention to others’ suffering (with compassion, i.e., without pity) readily illustrates the ordinary person’s capacity to maintain dignity in the face of suffering; in turn, against the backdrop of our sameness, it can neutralize the threat of the “mother of all fears.”
[Sidebar: I learned this precious life lesson many years ago from one of my patients. Briefly, his psychiatric diagnosis was hypochondriasis (replaced in DSM-5 by ‘Illness Anxiety Disorder’) — the irrational fear of getting sick. He suffered from an extreme case of it, manifested by his insistence, over the years, on undergoing countless diagnostic procedures (including many biopsies and more than a few surgical exploratory procedures). His psychiatric illness ruled his life. One day, essentially out of nowhere, as if to prove irony’s universal governance, he was diagnosed with an extremely aggressive form of cancer for which there was no treatment. He was discharged from the hospital shortly after the test results confirming his diagnosis became available because there was nothing they could offer him. His prognosis was extremely dire, with a life expectancy of less than six months. He called my office before leaving the hospital to schedule an appointment with me as soon as possible.
I scheduled a time to see him the next day, but I dreaded the appointment; I felt anxious and inadequate. My training had not come close to preparing me for this bizarre situation, in which a patient I had been treating for a paralyzing irrational fear was suddenly confronted with precisely the situation he had been dreading most of his adult life.
When he walked into my office, I was surprised to realize that while he was sad, he was not in a crisis; he was unhappy but calm and collected, not at all scared or anxious as I had imagined he would be.
Naturally, I was concerned that he was in denial or otherwise dissociated from the reality he was facing. As I explored his state of mind, he explained what was going on perfectly rationally: As the ordeal of the previous few days unfolded, he discovered that his phobia was not focused on becoming ill or dying (he was as apprehensive about that as most of us are). What he was pathologically afraid of was the nature of his reaction to discovering that he was seriously ill — he was afraid of losing control; more specifically, he was terrified of losing his dignity. When, unfortunately, he came to face this reality, he discovered that he had not “lost it.” Indeed, he was very sad and scared, but he had not come close to losing his dignity. Observing himself maintaining dignity in the face of the terrible news he received enabled him to find the calm he longed for and could never experience.
Sadly, he passed away less than six months later. I continued to see him regularly over the last few months of his life, and I am convinced he was sincere and authentic when he said it was the best period of his adult life.]
As I said earlier, paying attention to others’ suffering in a way that promotes gratitude and self-confidence will not solve any of the world’s problems; it will not even address them. However, added gratitude and rekindled confidence in one’s ability to walk with dignity (and, therefore, greater awareness of acting with dignity in general) can only raise the quality of the individual’s experience. It may not make a difference, but if it does, minute as it may be, it is likely to be in a positive direction. Hence, I think it is a good mental practice that supports the pursuit of happiness to regularly (e.g., daily or a few times a week) deliberately pay attention to others’ suffering and use that awareness as a springboard for cultivating gratitude and self-confidence in one’s ability to maintain dignity (and secondarily, a commitment to acting with it).
If you suspect that there may be a moral flaw in improving one’s personal experience by reflecting on the suffering of others, don’t. In no way does it get close to profiting at others’ expense.
Speaking for myself (and I am sure most people would share this view), I certainly wouldn’t volunteer to suffer just so someone would benefit from it in some way (be it cultivating gratitude and self-confidence or anything else). But I would not object to someone deriving a benefit out of my unavoidable suffering. I’m all for any benefit that can be derived from my suffering; even if it doesn’t alleviate it, it would make it less of a waste.
As I said before, cultivating gratitude and self-confidence will not directly reduce suffering on our planet, but it may contribute to reducing it indirectly. Reinforcing your mind with gratitude and confidence (ultimately, supporting a commitment to act with dignity) increases the likelihood that your influence on the world around you will be positive, whether you can trace it or not. The degree of change in the influence you exert is likely to be immeasurable (and therefore not worth giving mind to). Still, given the positive essence of gratitude and dignity, any change they impart is most likely to be in the positive direction.
[Sidebar: 1. Another way to think of this is in the context of Chaos theory, specifically, in the context of the Butterfly Effect (i.e., the idea that microscopic changes in the ’cause’ can lead to, or influence, the occurrence of macroscopic, or transformative, changes in the ‘effect’ — a butterfly moving air with its wings as it flies over Tokyo can result, or contribute to, a storm over Seattle), there is no point in trying to calculate the magnitude of the effect of one’s actions.
The closest anyone can get to knowing the nature of the ‘effect’ is knowing the nature of the ’cause’ — the intent. On the assumption that actions driven by a positive intent are more likely (than actions driven by the alternatives — negative or zero, i.e., actions that lack intent, unintentional actions) to influence movement (of anything in reality, e.g., ourselves, others, objects, or knowledge) in a positive — i.e., the desired — direction.]
Attending to the immense suffering in the world can paradoxically lead us to overlook the suffering in our own backyard — the suffering we are most likely to influence measurably. With fortified gratitude and dignity generated by reflecting on distant suffering, we may find ourselves better able to be kind and helpful to the people we can actually reach: our partners, our neighbors, even strangers — the cashier at the checkout line, the driver trying to merge into our lane. If paying attention to others’ suffering can make the world better, it is likely through these small, concrete acts rather than through any grand transformation.
Note that the mental practice presented here represents the initial, first step of actualizing personal responsibility in the face of human suffering. In no way am I suggesting that it is the full extent of it. In other words, if there is action you can take that might alleviate suffering — from treating your partner with extra kindness to donating to charities and volunteering your free time — by all means, do it. Do what you can, and if you do it with gratitude and with dignity, even better.
In closing, following the Dalai Lama’s instruction to pay attention to the suffering of others can lead to a strengthened sense of gratitude and self-confidence in one’s ability to act with dignity — attributes that primarily improve one’s internal world rather than the external one; they change how we experience others’ suffering, not whether it exists. But our internal and external worlds are not really separate. Through the interconnectedness of everything, internal improvements may impact the external world in ways that are permanently unknowable and incalculable, but, by virtue of being in the right direction, stand a real chance of amounting to “right influence,” the influence we aspire to have.
REFERENCES
Dalai Lama XIV. (2001). The compassionate life. Wisdom Publications.
Dalai Lama XIV, & Cutler, H. C. (1998). The art of happiness: A handbook for living. Riverhead Books.
Emmons, R. A., & McCullough, M. E. (2003). Counting blessings versus burdens: An experimental investigation of gratitude and subjective well-being in daily life. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 84(2), 377–389. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.84.2.377
Hicks, D. (2011). Dignity: Its essential role in resolving conflict. Yale University Press.
Jacobson, N. (2009). Dignity violation in health care. Qualitative Health Research, 19(11), 1536–1547. https://doi.org/10.1177/1049732309349939
Jazaieri, H., McGonigal, K., Jinpa, T., Doty, J. R., Gross, J. J., & Goldin, P. R. (2014). A randomized controlled trial of compassion cultivation training: Effects on mindfulness, affect, and emotion regulation. Motivation and Emotion, 38(1), 23–35. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11031-013-9368-z
Tangney, J. P., Stuewig, J., & Mashek, D. J. (2007). Moral emotions and moral behavior. Annual Review of Psychology, 58, 345–372. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev.psych.56.091103.070145
Tilghman-Osborne, C., Cole, D. A., & Felton, J. W. (2010). Definition and measurement of guilt: Implications for clinical research and practice. Clinical Psychology Review, 30(5), 536–546. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cpr.2010.03.007
Wood, A. M., Froh, J. J., & Geraghty, A. W. A. (2010). Gratitude and well-being: A review and theoretical integration. Clinical Psychology Review, 30(7), 890–905. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cpr.2010.03.005
Wood, A. M., Joseph, S., & Maltby, J. (2009). Gratitude predicts psychological well-being above the Big Five facets. Personality and Individual Differences, 46(4), 443–447. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.paid.2008.11.012
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