University of Groningen
Theories of Aggression
Dennen, J.M.G. van der
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Dennen, J. M. G. V. D. (2005). Theories of Aggression: Drive and subsidiary instinct theories of aggression.
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DRIVE AND SUBSIDIARY INSTINCT THEORIES OF AGGRESSION
Johan M.G. van der Dennen
AGGRESSIVE VS. GENERALIZED DRIVE
Miller’s (1941) retraction of the claim in frustration-aggression theory (Dollard et al., 1939)
that frustration necessarily induces aggressive drive, which in turn necessarily results in some
form of hostility or aggression, seems to have led the way in the dismissal of the concept of
specific aggressive drive. In contemporary psychology, this concept – as originally employed
in the frustration-aggression hypothesis – generally has been abandoned. This, however, does
not mean that all characteristic features of a hypothetical aggressive drive have been discarded
nor that the alternative of a nonspecific diffuse drive has been universally accepted. As the
drive concept in frustration-aggression theory (and more generally, in behavior theory) was
challenged, investigators became understandably reluctant to commit themselves to a
nomenclature that could make their theoretical positions vulnerable. The drive concept was
henceforth treated with caution. The concept was neither abandoned nor necessarily altered.
The word ‘drive’, however, was largely shunned. If used, it was frequently placed in quotation
marks, and when avoided, substitute terms were freely drawn upon. These practices
unfortunately have not helped to clarify the reasoning on aggression, since the changes were
more apparent than real. Many investigators maintained elements of aggressive drive in their
theories, but they did so without clearly identifying them as such (Zillmann, 1979).
1. Appetitive Drive
Aggressive drive has been conceived of, essentially, as an internal state of energy that: (a) is
produced by aversive stimulation, (b) compels the organism to aggressive action, and (c) is
diminished or terminated after the execution of such action. The drive state is thus reactive
rather than spontaneous, and it has appetitive properties that define particular appropriate
consummatory acts. Thus conceived, the notion of aggressive drive has continued to be used
mainly in the writings of Berkowitz (e.g., 1965a) and Feshbach (e.g., 1970).
In his reinterpretation of the frustration-aggression relationship, Berkowitz (1969a) expressed
the conviction that frustration induces a motivational state that favors aggression over
alternative response routes. “Basically”, he said, “I believe a frustrating event increases the
probability that the thwarted organism will act aggressively soon afterward, and that this
relationship exists in many different animal species, including man”. This statement, in fact,
largely reverses Miller’s (1941) retraction of the claim that frustration always fosters
aggression. Apparently, frustration is viewed as making aggression the likely reaction most of
the time. However, more importantly here, the statement attributes appetitive properties to the
frustration-induced state – ‘drive’, ‘force’, ‘anger’, or whatever label is used to denote it. In
Berkowitz’s (1955a, 1969a, 1970) conceptualization, then, aggressive drive predisposes the
organism to aggression. It constitutes a state of aggression readiness, sensitizing the organism
to releasing cues that are said to be necessary for aggression actually to occur (Zillmann,
1979).
With regard to consummatory aggressive reactions, Berkowitz has taken an extreme stand. He
has posited a ‘completion tendency’ (1965a) for aggressive behavior. Specifically, he
proposed that for the individual in an acute state of aggression readiness, the infliction of
injury upon the tormertor is the ultimate goal reaction and that only this goal reaction can
terminate the state of aggression readiness. He furthermore suggested that such a completion
tendency exists even though the response readiness may be purely autistic. Once the organism
is “primed to aggress” and “aggressive responses are set into motion, even if only implicitly in
the person’s thoughts”, he wrote, “then an individual will not attain completion until the goal
object has been aggressively injured” (Berkowitz, 1965a). Bandura (1973a) has taken issue
with this proposal as far as the autistic function is concerned, and the interested reader is
referred to his discussion of it. Here, we continue to concentrate on the completion tendency
as such.
In contrast to frustration-aggression theory, which permits the substitution of targets,
Berkowitz’s argument implies that in order to terminate an aucute state of aggressive drive,
aggression need be directed against the appropriate target. Berkowitz hastened to point out
that because of man’s conceptual abilities, the injury need not be inflicted personally by the
instigated individual and that it need not be inflicted in exactly the way in which it was
contemplated. In other words, aggressive agents and means may be substituted, but targets and
intended injuries may not.
This argument is of critical theoretical consequence. Most importantly, it categorically denies
catharsis through displaced aggression. Berkowitz’s reasoning, generally speaking, adheres
very closely to frustration-aggression theory, but with regard to catharsis, it obviously does
not. Only aggression against the tormentor is assumed to function as drive-reducing
consummatory behavior. As a consequence, aggression cannot be displaced in the sense of
taking the place of another, orginally motivated attack. An alternative target that draws an
attack because – according to Berkowitz’s cue model – it is associated with
aggression-triggering stimuli thus cannot substitute for the original tormentor. Attacks upon
alternative targets, then, simply constitute excess violence motivated by the readiness to
aggress against a specific tormentor (Zillmann, 1979). In this connection, Berkowitz (1965a,
1973b) has developed an interesting rationale that predicts that if anything, attacks upon
alternative targets will heighten the probability of an assault upon the actual tormentor. He
proposed that since the infliction of injury on the tormentor constitutes the ultimate goal
reaction for the aggressively instigated individual, failure to hurt the intended victim is
frustrating in itself. This frustration adds to the torment suffered initially, thus increasing the
individual’s aggression readiness.
Although Berkowitz does not suggest this, his argument can be applied recursively: Every
increment in aggression readiness makes the failure to inflict injury all the more frustrating,
adding further to aggression readiness, and so forth indefinitely. Since the proposal fails to
indicate a mechanism by which this drive escalation can be disrupted, aggression against the
tormentor seems largely to be inevitable and only a matter of time. What starts as an
‘aggressive thought’ must ultimately become overt violence – a challenging, controversial
idea indeed (cf. Bandura, 1973a).
Attacks upon alternative targets relate to this escalation model in two ways. First, the
emphasis on goal achievement rather than goal response – that is, on hurting rather than
hitting – led Berkowitz (e.g. 1973b) to propose that especially for the acutely instigated
person, the infliction of injury generally reinforces aggression. Attacks upon alternative targets
thus make further attacks, including those directed toward the original target, more likely.
Second, attacks upon alternative targets are viewed as lowering ‘aggression anxiety’, and this
anxiety reduction leads to the same expectations. Finally, Berkowitz (1970, 1973b) suggested
that the desire to hurt motivates the aggressively instigated person to enjoy witnessing others
inflict injury upon others and that mere exposure to violent activities reinforces aggression.
The angry person is said to develop an appetite for injurious activities, and the observation of
such activities is considered aggression enhancing because it elicits ‘aggression-related
anticipatory goal responses’ (Berkowitz, 1973b). In other words, witnessing aggression
reminds the angry person of his or her desire to hurt the tormentor, and this reminder further
instigates the desire to hurt that tormentor.
In summary, Berkowitz projects a highly specific aggressive drive that, once set in motion, is
strengthened by additional frustrations, by attacks made upon irrelevant targets, and by
exposure to violent actions. Further, the drive dissipates only after the object toward which it
is directed has been harmed or injured (Zillmann, 1979).
Feshbach (1955, 1961, 1964, 1970), an outspoken proponent of the notion of aggressive drive,
has arrived at a substantially different proposal. In agreement with Berkowitz, he views
frustration as the major source of aggressive instigation. His view of the drive-motivated goal
activities is also very similar to that of Berkowitz. The infliction of pain and injury upon the
tormentor is seen to terminate the drive state. Additionally, the mere observation of the
infliction of this pain and injury is seen to be reinforcing for the individual in whom
aggressive drive is activated (Feshbach, 1970; Feshbach, Stiles & Bitter, 1967). In sharp
disagreement with Berkowitz’s position, however, Feshbach (e.g. 1970) proposed that any
activity, overt or covert, that ‘functionally relates’ to the goal behavior constitutes a substitute
act and that the performance of substitute acts diminishes aggressive drive. The consequence
of this diminution of aggressive drive is, of course, a reduced likelihood of aggression against
the original tormentor and against all other targets. The important aspect of this cathartic
process is that it is best attained by aggressive activities. Engaging in hostile fantasies,
deliberately anticipating aggressive acts, witnessing violence, assaulting an inanimate object,
and hurting a defenseless victim – all these activities are expected to reduce aggressive drive
because they relate to the thwarted goal reaction more closely than do nonaggressive
activities. In the Lewinian nomenclature (e.g. Lewin, 1951) preferred by Feshbach (e.g. 1970),
only aggressive activities have ‘substitute valence’ for goal responses the aggressively
instigated person is motivated to perform, and consequently, only such activities can absorb
and reduce specific aggressive drive (Zillmann, 1979).
2. Diffuse Drive
The principal weakness of drive theories of aggression is their inability to account for the fact
that (a) aggressive drive can facilitate nonaggressive activities (cf. Bandura, 1973a), and (b)
nonaggressive drive can facilitate aggressive behavior (cf. Zillmann, 1978). Aggressive drive,
it seems, can readily be discharged through nonaggressive actions. Moreover, aggressive
actions apparently feed not only on aggressive drive but on other sources of drive as well.
Under these circumstances, as Bandura (1973a) pointed out, the involvement of an aggressive
drive in theories of aggression has created more conceptual problems than it has resolved. To
deal with recent findings, it apparently has become necessary to abandon the assumed
one-to-one correspondence between aggressive instigation, aggressive drive, and aggressive
behavior.
In an effort to accommodate findings that show that frustrations potentially facilitate a
multitude of behaviors – nonaggressive as well as aggressive activities – Feshbach (1970)
conceptually separated anger from aggressive drive. Anger is considered to have drive
properties “in the sense of an energizer of ongoing behavior”, and it is made clear that this
response-energizing function is not specific to aggression. Feshbach thus views anger as a
diffuse drive, whereas aggressive drive is seen as specific. Such a dual system helps to cope
with findings that cannot be accounted for in terms of aggressive drive, but it does so only in a
postmortem analysis. For explanatory purposes, the differentiation between anger and
aggressive drive is too ambiguous to permit the formulation of clear-cut predictions
(Zillmann, 1979).
Most contemporary investigators of aggression have shown more willingness than Feshbach
to abandon the notion of specific aggressive drive altogether. The major impetus for their
readiness to accept the alternative concept of drive as a diffuse, universal energizer seems to
have come from behavior theory. Hull (1943, 1952) had proposed a generalized drive, that is,
a nonspecific, undifferentiated drive state that integrates components of drive from various
sources. In his view, the strengths of simultaneously active drives combine into an effective
drive state. The entire accumulated force of this state then energizes the behavior that is
prepotent in the habit structure. Thus, there is no one-to-one linkage between a particular drive
and associated behaviors. Dependent on prevailing stimulus conditions that control habit,
elements of drive a can facilitate behavior associated with drive b, and vice versa. In principle,
any behavior can be facilitated by irrelevant drive – that is, by energy that in the past has not
been connected with the behavior it is energizing.
The application of these propositions to aggression is not as straightforward as it may appear.
Hull dealt primarily with deprivation-based drive states such as hunger and thirst. These states
are associated with well-defined consummatory reactions. The situation is obviously very
different for aggression. Aggression is not based on deprivation; nor are there unquestionable,
highly specific, and ultimately drive-reducing associated activities. These differences, which
are all too easily overlooked, have been acknowledged by Brown & Farber (1951), who
undertook the task of applying Hullian theory to aggression. Specifically, Brown & Farber
conceived of emotions as intervening variables, and they dealt with frustrations in this
context. They posited that “frustration-produced drive has the functional status of an irrelevant
drive”. This amounts to saying that frustration induces a drive state that, in the absence of
preestablished drive-specific habits, potentially energizes aggressive and nonaggressive
behaviors alike. In short, conceiving of frustration as an irrelevant drive removes all elements
of aggression specificity from frustration, making it a source of purely diffuse drive.
For some reason, Brown & Farber’s efforts have attracted little attention. Investigators have
drawn directly on Hull’s model, ignoring the problems deriving from differences in the status
of drive. Hull’s notion of generalized drive was simply transformed into the proposal that
drive (or arousal) will facilitate the behavior that holds a prime position in the response
hierarchy (e.g., Geen & O’Neal, 1969) or the proposal that arousal (or drive) enhances any and
every behavior a person comes to perform (e.g., Tannenbaum, 1972). Such formulations
remove the burden for the causation of aggression from drive and place it on habit. Under
given circumstances, established aggressive habits are activated, and the strength of drive
present at that time comes to energize the activated habit. Consequently, drive is not viewed
as pushing toward a specific behavior, but once a specific behavior is determined – mainly by
environmental stimuli that trigger a learned reaction – this behavior is seen as being powered
by prevailing drive. This position on drive has been concisely expressed by Hebb (1955), who
treated generalized drive and arousal as synonymous: Drive “is an energizer, but not a guide;
an engine but not a steering gear”. This view contrasts sharply with Miller’s (1959)
conception, which, as will be remembered, assigned strong stimulus properties to a drive state.
The view that prevalent drive diffusely energizes any and every behavior performed has a
significant corrolary that is often overlooked: The degree to which behavior will be energized
is a monotonic function of the strength of diffuse drive. In the proposed additive integration of
various sources of drive, the specificity of these sources is entirely lost. The notion of partial
energization, due to incompatible elements of drive, would be contradictory to the very notion
of a generalized drive. The full force of drive must thus come to play. With regard to
aggression, the theoretical expectation is not ambiguous, then: Diffuse drive operates as a
unitary force, intensifying – in proportion to the magnitude of drive or arousal prevailing at
that time – any aggressive reaction performed (Zillmann, 1979).
3. Drive Reduction
The principal features of drive theory are, of course: (a) that increases in drive level increase
the motivation to seek out conditions under which consummatory activities can be performed
and enhance the motivation to perform such activities; and (b) that the performance of these
consummatory activities effects a reduction in drive level and consequently decreases the
associated motivation. In the hungry animal, for example, the motivation to seek and consume
food is assumed to increase with drive, which in turn is assumed to increase with time of food
deprivation. Food consumption, that is, the performance of the consummatory response, is
considered to lower drive and consequently to relax the animal’s foodgathering activity until
drive levels rise again, and so forth. Whatever the merits of employing the drive concept in
this context, the analogy with aggression must appear forced. As has been pointed out earlier,
and notwithstanding Lorenz’s convictions to the contrary, aggression is not based on
deprivation. Because it is not, consummatory actions that would eliminate a deficiency, and
that would thereby necessarily reduce the motivation to aggress, cannot be specified. To
consider the infliction of pain or injury upon an antagonist a consummatory, drive-absorbing
act thus means overextending a model designed to explain behavior that differs fundamentally
from aggression. Nonetheless, presumably because the drive model proved to be so very
plausible for behaviors that are motivated by bodily changes resulting from deprivation, the
analogy of specific drive in aggression seems to have been broadly accepted. People tend to
consider it a truism (a) that the aggressively instigated person is out to hurt his or her
tormentor, and (b) that ultimately, only a successful attack will make that person feel better.
As discussed earlier, Berkowitz (e.g., 1965a, 1969a) has formally expressed this popular view.
In terms of drive reduction, this view is extreme in suggesting that once aggressive drive is
activated, it will remain active until the specific goal to be achieved by the goal reaction has
been accomplished, that is, until injury has been inflicted. In fact, drive must be assumed to be
maintained at its original level until injury has been inflicted.
Frustration-aggression theory, as will be remembered, has promoted a different view. Dollard
et al. (1939) held that the expression of any act of aggression is drive reducing in that it lowers
the instigation to all other acts of aggression. This makes any hostile or aggressive act, no
matter what target it is directed against, a partial or possibly total substitute for the initially
motivated aggressive goal response. The aggressive goal response is partially deprived of its
associated drive and hence is less likely to occur. This drive reduction through substitute
hostility or aggression is of course the thrust of the catharsis proposal (Zillmann, 1979).
Feshbach (1970) has more narrowly defined the conditions under which a reduction of
specific aggressive drive can occur. He stipulated that there “needs to be a functional
relationship between the goal behavior and the substitute act”, but he failed to specify what
exactly is meant by this functional relationship. Feshbach suggested that a high degree of
similarity between the substitute act and the goal response for which it serves as a substitute
would ensure drive reduction, but the basis for similarity was left unclear. Presumably, a high
degree of similarity in the patterns of motor activity associated with the goal response and its
substitute would meet the stipulation. But would incidental stimulus similarities between the
original and the substitute target also qualify?
In the light of such conceptual and ultimately operational difficulties with the variables upon
which the very prediction ef catharsis is based, one might expect that the explanatory power of
this notion would be considered limited. This is not the case, however. In Feshbach’s
reasoning, the discharge of aggressive drive through substitute activities is treated largely as
an undeniable truism. This becomes quite clear in Feshbach’s recent discussion of the research
evidence pertaining to catharsis theory.
Feshbach (1970) proposed that substitute aggression may have several independent effects
that together determine the level of subsequent aggressiveness. First, such aggression should
reduce the level of aggressive drive and, in turn, aggressiveness. At the same time, however:
(a) it may lower the strength of inhibitions upon later aggression; (b) it may be reinforcing
through the attainment of feedback relating to the motivated goal response (e.g., the substitute
attack may produce the victim’s expression of pain, which is considered reinforcing because it
is part of the originally intended goal reaction); and (c) it may be reinforcing because of its
instrumental value (e.g., it may prove to yield incentives). A finding in which the performance
of aggression is followed by reduced aggressiveness can thus be viewed as a case in which a
reduction in aggressive drive dominated the aggression-enhancing factors. A finding in which
the performance of aggressive acts fails to alter subsequent aggressiveness can be seen as a
case in which the effect of drive discharge was counteracted and neutralized by the opposing
effects indicated. Last but not least, a finding in which aggression is followed by increased
aggressiveness can be interpreted as a case in which the aggression-enhancing forces
dominated the impact of drive drainage. Clearly, no matter what effect is observed, it can be
accounted for post facto by such a model. Even in the face of what would appear to be
counterevidence, a claim can be made that catharsis occurred. Within Feshbach’s model,
catharsis theory eludes the possibility of falsification. As long as the effect on aggression of
the various presumed subprocesses cannot be isolated and assessed independently, the
catharsis hypothesis cannot be subjected to decisive empirical testing (cf. Bandura, 1973a).
We now turn to the consideration of the energization of aggressive behavior by diffuse drive
and its implications for drive reduction. It will be remembered that the concept of generalized
drive is based on the assumption that elements of relevant and irrelevant drive inseparably
combine into an effective drive that diffusely energizes behavior associated with a prime
location in a hypothetical hierarchy of responses. In this theoretical framework, a reduction in
drive level is considered to come about with the performance of energy-absorbing activities. It
is secondary here that in behavior theory, such a reduction in drive is said to reinforce the
behavior that precipitated the drive discharge. What is important is the view that a reduction
in drive level can be brought about by any energy-absorbing activity. It is of little moment
whether or not the energy-absorbing behavior is aggressive. Aggressive and nonaggressive
activities alike effect a reduction in drive as a function of energy discharge. As a consequence,
aggressive behavior that consumes little energy should have little if any impact on subsequent
aggressiveness, and nonaggressive acts that absorb considerable energy should reduce
subsequent aggressiveness.
A major factor in the discharge of energy through behavior is the involvement of
skeletal-motor activity. Generally speaking, the amount of energy discharged increases with
the number of skeletal-motor structures involved in a response sequence, with the vigor of the
responses in the sequence, and with the length of time the response sequence is performed.
The reduction of diffuse drive should thus be more pronounced, the more strenuous the
behavior performed (Zillmann, 1979).
This reasoning has interesting implications for aggression. As already indicated, it leads to
expectations that sharply contrast with those deriving from the notion of a specific aggressive
drive. First, the infliction of injury does not necessarily reduce drive level. Pulling a trigger,
for example, consumes so little energy that it can hardly be considered to effect a notable
discharge of diffuse drive. Consequently, shooting someone should fail to lower drive level by
very much, and if aggressive responses remain in a prime location in the response hierarchy,
diffuse drive should be carried along to energize such responses. Also, no matter how much
harm is inflicted by hostile activities, these activities should generally not reduce drive
notably. Dropping a devastating remark, for example, is simply not very strenuous. A
vigorous aggressive struggle, in contrast, should constitute an optimal condition for drive
discharge, whether or not it leads to the infliction of injury. Second, and of equal importance,
the performance of vigorous nonaggressive activities must be expected to reduce the level of
diffuse drive, thus depriving subsequent behavior of much of the irrelevant drive that could
have energized it. This expectation relates to the suggestion by Freud (1915) and Hartmann,
Kris & Loewenstein (1949) that intense skeletal-motor activities can purge the organism of
aggressive urges. It seems also to relate, although more loosely, to Lorenz’s (1963) conjecture
that participation in sports can help curb violence by draining off a hypothetical reservoir of
spontaneously increasing aggressive energy.
In summary, then, models of aggression that explicitly or implicitly endorse the notion of a
specific aggressive drive tend to emphasize the importance of goal attainment (the infliction
of injury) in the reduction of drive. Drive reduction has been expected, in principle: (a) with
the actual goal attainment, (b) with the performance of the goal reaction against a substitute
target, and (c) with the performance of a modified, yet inherently similar, goal reaction against
a substitute target. The performance of responses that fail to inflict harm or injury of some sort
is considered to leave the level of aggressive drive unaltered. Aggressive drive is thus
assumed to persist at given levels for indefinitely long periods of time. Models that embrace
the notion of a diffuse, generalized drive, by contrast, stress the energetic aspects of behavior.
Drive reduction is expected to follow both aggressive and nonaggressive activities that are
energy consuming. Since diffuse drive is unrelated to specific goal reactions, the infliction of
harm or injury in and of itself is not considered to effect drive discharge. Aggressive goal
reactions reduce drive level only to the extent that they are precipitated by and directly involve
strenuous activities. Finally, since diffuse drive is viewed as varying freely with energy
expenditures, drive levels are generally not considered stable for any length of time (Zillmann,
1979).
4. From Drive to Arousal
In behavior theory (e.g., Hull, 1943, 1952; Spence, 1956, 1960), drive has, strictly speaking,
the status of a hypothetical construct. Hull (1943) conceived of drive as an intervening
variable that is ‘never directly observable’. On many occasions, however, Hull suggested a
physical embodiment of drive, although he was relatively imprecise on the matter. He
suggested, for example, the following: “Most, if not all, primary needs appear to generate and
throw into the blood stream more or less characteristic chemical substances, or else to
withdraw a characteristic substance. These substances (or their absence) have a selective
physiological effect on more or less restricted and characteristic portions of the body... which
serves to activate resident receptors. This receptor activation constitutes the drive stimulus”
(Hull, 1943).
Suggestions of this kind tended to equate drive with activity in the autonomic nervous system.
The assessment of drive in terms of such activity has remained an unresolved issue, however
(cf. Cofer & Appley, 1964).
With the advent of activation theory (e.g., Duffy, 1957, 1962; Lindsley, 1951, 1957; Malmo,
1959), the emphasis changed to activities in the brainstem reticular formation. The ascending
reticular activating system had been shown to project diffusely to thalamic, hypothalamic, and
cortical regions (e.g. Magoun, 1954; Moruzzi, 1964; Moruzzi & Magoun, 1949). The fact of
essentially diffuse projection, which has survived later modifications and refinements in the
delineation of the specific structures involved (cf. Thompson, 1967), was interpreted as
inconsistent with the assumption of specific, motivating drives. Activation was conceived of
as a nonspecific, behavior-energizing force that could be measured through the
electroencephalogram. Most importantly, activation was treated as a measurable unitary
variable, ranging from death through coma, deep sleep, light sleep, drowsiness, relaxed
wakefulness, and alert attentiveness to strong, excited emotions (e.g., Lindsley, 1957). All
these levels of activation were shown to be associated with characteristic wave patterns and
rhythms in the encephalogram. The concept of activation was readily incorporated in theories
of motivation. Brown (1961) accepted the possibility of assessing drive through arousal in the
reticular formation, and many others did likewise (e.g., Berlyne, 1960; Bindra, 1959). It
should be clear, however, that drive was not simply equated with such arousal. Rather, arousal
in the reticular system was treated as a reliable, convenient index of activation at large. It was
considered to reflect the degree of excitation of all organismic structures: “the extent to which
the organism as a whole is activated or aroused” (Duffy, 1934). Arousal in the reticular
formation, although it was considered a superior index of the level of motivation (e.g.,
Malmo, 1965), was thus assumed to correlate highly with arousal in other structures (cf.
Duffy, 1957).
The changing status of drive, from a construct to a measurable entity, is similarly evident in
aggression theory. The explicit use of the drive concept has become comparatively rare. The
concept of arousal, on the other hand, seems to have become successively more popular. In
one way or another, all contemporary theories of aggression try to explain the phenomenon in
terms of an interaction of cognition and arousal. The student of this topic may thus readily
come to the conclusion that the theories are very similar, at least as far as arousal is concerned.
Such an impression is quite erroneous, however. Confusion arises from the fact that the
concept of arousal is used very broadly and assumes different meanings in different theories –
occasionally even in the same theory.
In Berkowitz’s reasoning, for example, arousal designates both a state of acute physiological
excitation (e.g., 1970) and an energizing force that apparently only loosely corresponds with
excitation (e.g., 1965a). The latter use of the arousal concept plays a part in the proposal of a
completion tendency in aggression (Zillmann, 1979).
In his social learning theory of aggression, Bandura (1973a) proposed that aversive treatments
produce “a general state of emotional arousal that can facilitate a variety of behaviors,
depending on the types of responses the person has learned for coping with their stress and
their relative effectiveness”. This proposal is entirely consistent with Hullian behavior theory,
as Rule & Nesdale (1976a) have pointed out. Emotional arousal is conceived of as a universal,
diffuse energizer of behavior controlled by established stimulus-response connections.
Concerning this concept of emotional arousal, Bandura has not been very specific, however.
He has acknowledged the response-potentiating properties of acute arousal without specifying
exactly what comprises such arousal or how it exerts its behavior-modifying influence.
Regarding the latter, he has not developed a mechanism by which arousal can facilitate, as
proposed, nearly every kind of behavior. The specific operation of arousal, then, remains
unclear. In particular, it is difficult to see how a high-activation state can facilitate a
low-activation response to provocation. How can, for example, acute arousal ‘energize’
withdrawal, resignation, or apathy – all these reactions to frustration being used as
illustrations by Bandura?
Bandura’s analysis of arousal as a facilitating force in aggression has several distinguishing
characteristics. First, in sharp contrast to other positions in which the treatment of arousal
largely parallels that of drive, Bandura stressed the short-lived nature of acute arousal. He
directed attention to the noncathartic dissipation of arousal and to factors that influence and
control this dissipation. Second, Bandura felt it necessary to qualify to some extent the notion
of arousal as a universal energizer. Whereas arousal from adverse experiences is expected to
energize socially constructive behaviors as well as hostile or aggressive activities, arousal
deriving from joyful or rewarding experiences is expected to inhibit rather than facilitate
hostility and aggression. This expectation, which severely restricts the generality of arousal as
an energizer, is based on the contention that euphoric arousal is “incompatible with hostile
actions” (1973a; italics added).
In Bandura’s view, then, only arousal deriving from adverse experiences can function as the
universal energizer referred to in behavior theory. Arousal from pleasant experiences may
facilitate similar experiences, but it is seen as incapable of combining with noxious arousal in
the facilitation of aggression. In short, the impact of noxious arousal crosses hedonic lines; the
impact of pleasant arousal does not. Finally and maybe most importantly, Bandura views the
role of arousal in aggression as entirely secondary. He feels that aggression is almost totally
controlled by reinforcement contingencies, independent of the arousal prevailing at the time of
instigation or at the time of performance of aggression. “By arranging social learning
determinants such that arousal-linked aggression is negatively sanctioned but aggression
without arousal is well received, one could undoubtedly reverse the relationship between
physiological state and action” (Bandura, 1973a).
Arousal is thus merely a cue that may coincide with aggressive inclinations. If, as presumably
is the case in most if not all human cultures, arousal facilitates aggression, it does so only
because at high levels of arousal, aggression has tended to have greater reward value. If we
were consistently rewarded for aggressing when calm and punished for aggressing when
aroused, we should come to be greatly inhibited by the arousal that prevails when we are
aggressively provoked. It should be clear at this point that Bandura considers the relationship
between arousal and aggression to be entirely learned (Zillmann, 1979).
Notwithstanding Bandura’s approach to arousal, in recent years investigations of the function
of arousal in aggression have shown a strong tendency to assess arousal rather than assume it
to exist at particular levels. Arousal has been measured in motor activity (e.g., Gallup &
Altomari, 1969; O’Neal, McDonald, Hori & McClinton, 1978), in task performance (e.g.,
Burgess & Hokanson, 1964; Doob & Kirshenbaum, 1973), and in various physiological
reactions – mainly cardiovascular changes (e.g., Doob & Kirshenbaum, 1973; Hokanson &
Burgess, 1962b). It appears that this tendency will persist and ultimately lead to a compelling
separation of the concept of arousal from the concept of drive as a force that remains elevated
after activation has dissipated.
In recent research on aggression, then, the concept of drive, especially aggressive drive, has
been replaced by the concept of arousal. At times, arousal is used as a synonym for aggressive
drive; at others, for generalized drive. More frequently, however, it is employed in the sense
of an acute state of physiological excitation with diffuse, energizing properties. The
arousal-aggression relationship has been considered by some to be partly inherent and partly
learned and by others to be entirely learned. Arousal has been operationalized in a variety of
ways, and with increasing frequency it has been subjected to measurement (Zillmann, 1979).
Aggression as Subsidiary Instinct(s)
An innate ever-accumulating aggressive energy has its dysfunctional side. It is like having a
self-destruction device built into the organism (Scherer, Abeles & Fischer, 1975), like a
lysosome into the cytoplasm. Unless it is properly dealt with, it constantly threatens to
explode. How is this obviously dysfunctional aspect neutralized before it destroys the species?
Lorenz (1966) offers a rather dialectical explanation for this problem. He argues that the “two
great constructors of evolution” (mutation and selection) solve the problem in the following
manner: “... the generally useful, indispensable drive remains unaltered, but for the particular
case in which it might prove harmful, a very special inhibitive mechanism is constructed ad
hoc”. He points to a large number of examples of this principle in the fighting behavior of
animals, where dominance struggles between rivals are often settled by the most impressive
threat display rather than a fight-to-the-death. If fighting does occur, it is often a rather
harmless nature, like a tug-of-war.
Lorenz claims that there is a direct relationship between the effectiveness of the weapons of a
species and the reliability and strength of such inhibiting mechanisms. In short, when
dysfunctional consequences are likely to result from the generally functional aggressive drive,
special inhibitory mechanisms act to ‘turn off’ the aggression.
In humans, however, the invention of artificial weapons destroyed the balance between
aggression and its innate inhibitors. Lorenz believes that weapons, particularly long-distance
(e.g., guns) or remote-control weapons (e.g. guided missiles) “screen the killer against the
stimulus situation which would otherwise activate his killing inhibitions”.
Of course this hypothesis is highly speculative and untestable without a time-machine. It is
certainly possible and even likely that seeing the consequences of one’s aggressive acts, such
as the victim’s pain, may inhibit further aggression. But it is also likely that they would
encourage greater aggression by informing the assailant of his attack’s success.
In addition, it is hard to justify the weight that Lorenz places upon the invention of weapons in
explaining human aggression. The invention of weapons was probably accompanied, if not
preceded, by many other dramatic changes in human evolution, particularly the development
of language and cognition. These capacities enabled human beings to transcend the
here-and-now, to plan, to expect, and to predict. Such abilities may have been much more
influential in determining the nature and frequency of human aggression in the course of
human evolution and may be primarily responsible for the differences between human and
animal aggression.
In terms of scientific theorizing, it does not seem very parsimonious to postulate a particular
mechanism just because there are corrective factors (e.g. inhibitions) that keep it from going
wrong. For example, we do not justify our car’s acceleration by the fact that there are brakes.
Inhibitory mechanisms would be necessary even if we assumed that aggressive behavior is
motivated not by one instinct of combat, but by several subinstincts of aggression.
In this view, proposed by Scherer, Abeles & Fischer (1975), aggression is not a general
instinct in its own right, but rather a part of more general instincts such as reproduction,
feeding, or defense. In this respect, it is comparable to a subroutine in a computer program,
which may be called from several other main routines.
It seems more reasonable to assume aggressive subinstincts in the service of important
species-preserving instincts than to posit a general aggressive instinct, whose consequences
would be dysfunctional during much of the individual’s life span. The notion of aggressive
subinstincts would also answer two important questions: (1) Why is aggressive behavior, in
many animals, more frequent during certain seasons (e.g. the mating season) than in others,
and (2) Where does the energy or excitatory potential originate?
In an authoritative survey of animal behavior, Hinde (1966; 1970) pointed out that territorial
fighting (which is often used as evidence for a single dynamic instinct of aggression) occurs in
many species mainly during the mating season. A number of observations show that cyclical
physiological processes cause the gonads to release sex hormones into the bloodstream during
that season, which, in turn, have a strong influence on aggressive behavior.
Again, it seams reasonable to have an extra supply of aggressive energy available at a time
when fights for sexual partners and territory are likely. The existence of such a well-timed and
directed increase in aggression as part of the reproductive instinct makes us even less likely to
accept the idea of a single, always active, instinct of aggression (Scherer, Abeles & Fischer,
1975).
“The rarity of seeking for fights in animals is not altogether unexpected. Fighting is basically a
means of competing more effectively for any commodity in short supply – food, water,
nesting sites, mates, or space. Unless something is gained, fighting is at best a waste of time.
At worst it engenders the possibility of distraction from other dangers, or of injury, or of
death. An endogenous tendency to seek out fights would thus have hazardous consequences”
(Marler & Hamilton, 1966).
“[I]f we accept that a process of natural selection can act on a certain form of aggression that
serves – for each of the individuals displaying it – a certain purpose in particular
circumstances, it is difficult to see how evolution could have given birth to an ‘all-purpose’
aggressive drive (since it is supposed to express itself in a variety of forms of aggression
which serve a multitude of purposes under very varied circumstances, and since, when no
fellow-creatures are within reach, some animals are reduced ‘to discharge their anger on other
objects’). An aggressive drive of this kind rather looks like a real biological nonsense, liable
to lead the animal kingdom rapidly to its disappearance” (Karli, 1991).
“In short, there is no evidence that a widespread unitary aggressive instinct exists” (Wilson,
1978).
“In the rut, red deer stags engage in escalated fights involving roaring contests, parallel
walking, and head clashes; but how far any fight goes, who initiates the first direct attack, and
who eventually gives way, are all dictated by what one contestant does in response to the
moves that are being made by the other (Clutton-Brock & Albon, 1979). Just imagine the fate
of some poor psychohydraulic stag who, upon entering such a contest in his first season as a
mature animal, was unfortunate enough to be burdened with a bucketful of aggression (i.e., a
full Lorenzian aggression reservoir). Responding massively to the slightest provovation from
older and stronger animals all around him, such a stag would almost certainly suffer severe
injury in his very first contest; and his chances of living to fight another day, let alone of ever
having any offspring, would be slim indeed. This, presumably, is one very good reason why
Lorenzian aggression reservoirs have never evolved” (Klama, 1988).
Hinde (1966; 1970) has further questioned the emphasis that Lorenz puts on the internal
motivation to aggress. Specifically, he attacks the notion of the damming up of aggressive
energy, which leads to threshold lowering and vacuum activities. Hinde stresses the
importance of social release stimuli and argues that the influence of the internal condition of
an organism, such as the hormonal balance lies not so much in its effects on the intensity of
behavior, but on the evaluation of external stimuli.
Is Aggression Reinforcing?
Rather than a means to an end, it is sometimes argued that aggression is an end in itself and
serves as its own reinforcement. A number of experiments have been carried out with animals
to see if killing can be considered a goal in itself rather than instrumental behavior for some
other goal. This is generally done by observing whether a response will be learned which
provides an opportunity to attack and kill (R.N. Johnson, 1972).
Myer (1964) found that some rats, if given the opportunity, will continue to attack and kill
mice even though they are given no conventional reinforcement for doing so. If placed in a
T-maze with mice in one goal box and baby rats in the other, mouse-killing rats will choose
the arm of the maze where they can attack a mouse, while non-mouse-killers prefer the
company of babyrats (Myer & White, 1955). The opportunity to attack a mouse can also be
used to teach rats a spatial discrimination and a reversal (Tellegen, Horn & Legrand, 1969). If
monkeys are given a painful tail shock, they will learn to perform a response which gives
them access to a canvas ball they can attack (Azrin, Hutchinson & McLaughlin, 1965). Rats
given inescapable electric shock will choose the arm of a T-maze containing another rat with
which they can fight (Dreyer & Church, 1970), and cats under the influence of hypothalamic
stimulation will seek out a rat to attack (Roberts & Kiess, 1954). Fighting fish (Thompson,
1963) and fighting cocks (Thompson, 1964) will perform an operant response in order to be
rewarded with visual exposure to a conspecific.
It is also possible to shape lever- and key-pressing responses in a Skinner box using a live
mouse as reinforcement (van Hemel, 1972). Rats will perform operant responses for the
reward of killing mice (van Hemel & Myer, 1970) or frogs (Huston, DeSisto & Meyer, 1959)
with little apparent satiation, although some experimenters have reported evidence of satiation
(Kulkarni, 1958). In an operant situation, killing latencies decrease with practice, just as with
conventional reinforcers, and prior killing experience makes such behavior more resistant to
the suppressive effects of punishment (Myer, 1967).
As pointed out by R.N. Johnson (1972) the question whether aggression is rewarding for its
own sake is more difficult to answer than might be supposed, for it is necessary to show that
killing is not instrumental. It is possible that some animals kill because they ‘enjoy’ killing,
but it is also possible that they are defending a quasi-territory, killing defensively because they
feel cornered or threatened, or responding to the possibility of a tastier meal than Purina lab
chow. The reinforcement may come, not from killing, but from the cessation of distracting
stimuli or from the removal of a potential competitor. Killing might also be the result of being
trapped in a foreign environment such as a Skinner box where nearly everything is irrelevant
to the natural behavior of the animal. It might also be a neurotic reaction resulting from
abnormal rearing conditions.
While some experimenters have tried to show that aggression is rewarding in animals, others
have tried to show that ‘altruism’ is rewarding. Rice & Gainer (1962) suspended rats in the
air, and found that other rats would learn to press a bar which would lower the distressed rat.
Lavery & Foley (1963) argued that the effect might be due to arousal rather than altruism, for
rats will learn to make a response which will terminate either distress calls or white noise.
Greene (1969) found that rats would rescue a conspecific in distress only if the rescuer himself
had previously experienced the distress (e.g. electric shock).
On the other side of the coin, animals will sometimes not only fail to rescue, but may actively
torment a conspecific in distress. Mice, termites, and piranha fish are known to attack and kill
conspecifics which are injured. In the laboratory, Sidowski (1970) strapped a monkey to a
cross to see if other monkeys would aid the helpless victim. At first the other monkeys
withdrew, but later they ignored the obvious distress of the ‘crucified’ monkey and began to
pull his hair, gouge his eyes, and lick his genitals. It should be noted that the animals in this
experiment were partially or totally isolated from birth and, unfortunately, no control group of
normal monkeys was tested. Distress experiments may not be critical tests of altruism, for
they are usually carried out in an artificial social situation. A restrained animal is prevented
from communicating with gestures so that other animals might feel threatened by the victim’s
apparent refusal to participate in rituals. Certainly an upright position on a cross easily could
be mistaken for a posture of threat (R.N. Johnson, 1972).
In the long run, it is doubtful that it will ever be established that animals in general are either
altruistic or aggressive. Individual aggressive and helping behavior is likely to vary with
social, developmental, situational, and species differences. There is some evidence that
consummatory behaviors such as eating, drinking, or copulating are reinforcing in their own
right, or in terms of Glickman & Schiff’s (1967) model, the neural activity underlying such
consummatory behavior may be reinforcing. Predatory or defensive killing may be a form of
such consummatory behavior, but offensive killing for its own sake appears to be the
exception, at least in nonhuman animals. Aside from a few clever laboratory demonstrations,
the natural aggressive behavior of animals appears to be confined to instrumental aggression
(R.N Johnson, 1972). This was stated many years ago by Craig (1921, 1928).
“Fundamentally, among animals, fighting is not sought nor valued for its own sake; it is
resorted to rather as an unwelcome necessity, a means of defending the agent’s interests... The
animal fights in order to gain or to retain possession of that which is of value to him, such as
food, mate or nest...Two animals fight only when their interests conflict. This is the
fundamental fact in regard to inf ra-human fighting.
Animals do not enjoy fighting for its own sake. Unless his anger is aroused, the agent’s
behavior indicates that he has no appetence (Craig, 1918) for the fighting situation; he does
not seek it; when in it he does not endeavor to prolong it; and he reveals by his expressions
that he does not enjoy it. On the contrary, fighting belongs under the class of negative
reactions or aversions (Craig, 1918); it is a means of getting rid of an annoying stimulus. As
McDougall says, the stimulus of the instinct of pugnacity is the thwarting of some other
instinct” (Craig, 1921).
Feshbach’s (1964) flowchart model of aggressive behavior
Feshbach (1964) presented a fairly simple flowchart model, consisting of four Choice Points,
for aggressive behavior. Choice Point 1 denotes the classification of a stimulus as obstructing,
threatening, habitually noxious – all defined as aversive or as not aversive. Where objective
stimulus conditions are constant, the habit of classifying a member of certain stimulus subsets
into the subjective subset of ‘noxious stimuli’ may be viewed as being equivalent to the
hostility syndrome, while the likelihood of perceiving a stimulus as threatening or obstructing
might be seen as related to, respectively, self-esteem, and the ability to perceive alternative
goals or alternative goal paths to the original goal.
The role of autonomic arousal in general, not necessarily labeled as anger, at this point
consists simply in eliminating alternatives of classification. More important than the
autonomic state appears to be a person’s momentary perceptual orientation at the time he is
faced with the stimulus. He may be anticipating noxious, threatening, or obstructing events,
and thereby increase the likelihood of classifying them accordingly. The effect of arousal at
this point is, then, that of a probabilistic operator, which changes the likelihood that a stimulus
will be classified in a certain way.
Choice Point 2 represents the initiation of a goal response. It is assumed that a stimulus
categorized as not aversive has an initial probability of zero of evoking an aggressive
fractional anticipating goal response, while noxious, obstructing, or threatening stimuli all
have equal probabilities greater than (or equal to) zero of initiating an aggressive response. It
is at this point that the construct ‘ aggressive tendency’ or ‘aggressive habit’ becomes
relevant.It plays the role of a probabilistic operator and, for reasons of economy, may be
viewed as identicall across classifications though, of course, differing across subjects.
Stimulus classification (at Choice Point 1), affected by both dispositional and situational
determinants, can be conceptualized as standing in a multiplicative relationship to aggressive
habit. Where a not aversive classification has been made or where aggressive habit is
extremely low, the likelihood of an aggressive response being initiated becomes very small.
At Choice Point 2, anger may be present for two of reasons. It may be an initially classically
conditioned, later operant-arousal state associated with a response choice and subsequently
labeled anger (see Shapiro, Crider & Tursky, 1964), or it may be the result of deliberate
self-stimulation, reinforced through previous, successful response activation; that is, the
person talks himself into a rage (see Brehm, Back & Bogdonoff. 1964). The role of autonomic
arousal here is thus seen as simply energizing rather than as affecting the likelihood of a
choice.
Choice Point 3 deals with the dispositional inhibitory variables such as aggression anxiety.
Such aggression anxiety is seen as a conditioned inhibitory response which may either, in the
tradional Hullian sense, detract from the reaction potential of the ongoing aggressive response,
or, through a feedback loop, result in the selection of an alternative response. (The selection of
an alternative response can also be accounted for in the traditional paradigm by referring to
response hierarchies, where a new response becomes dominant if another one is inhibited.
However, the notion of feedback and cognitive reevaluation of an ongoing response is a useful
one in this instance.)
Choice Point 4 refers to the situational, including the social, determinants of the situation.
The functions of these determinants may be viewed as permitting the person to mediate
anticipated rewards or punishments which appear to be likely outcomes of his present ongoing
response. The effects of these determinants is either to ‘clear’ the ongoing response for
completion, or to bring about a return to Choice Point 2 for selection of an alternate response.
This process may take place where the original ongoing response is aggressive, that is, the
person perceives the inappropriateness of his response and modifies it, or it may in some
instances lead to the initiation of an aggressive response, even though the original response
was nonaggressive. In the case where a stimulus had been classified as not aversive at Choice
Point 1 and initiated a nonaggressive response, we should have the equivalent of attack
against a target for purely social or similar reward expectations. It is important to note that
repeated social aggression of this nature through classical conditioning may soon lead to a
greater probability that a set of stimuli will be classified as noxious at Choice Point I.
Choice Point 4 may also result in a return to Choice Point 1, that is, a reevaluation of the
stimulus itself. Again, this reevaluation may take place by classifying a stimulus initially
perceived as not aversive into one of the three aversive categories, or vice versa.
Once the aggressive or nonaggressive response has been completed, the subject’s evaluation
of the outcome may be assumed to take place. It is at this late stage that autonomic arousal or
anger may occur or endure as a dissonance or anxiety reducer.
The present classification suggests that the dispositional determinants of perceiving stimuli in
a certain manner (Choice Point 1) and strength of aggressive habit (Choice Point 2) should be
susceptible to retraining, but such a retraining process could be quite lengthy.
Building up inhibitions at Choice Point 3 may be a questionable strategy, since it implies less
aggressive behavior, where aggressive response tendency is held constant, but also greater
conflict. The opportunities represented by Choice Point 4 consist of making the likelihood of a
favorable social or other payoff for aggression lower, or, preferably, of raising the expectation
of a favorable payoff for a nonaggressive response. The general approach here has been either
to induce a reevaluation of the stimulus, discussed by Pastore (1952), Pepitone (1958) and
Feshbach (1964), or to encourage a new response to a stimulus which need not necessarily be
perceived as less objectionable than before (Kaufmann & Feshbach 1963a,b). Such a
modification of an ongoing response may, but need not, be ‘frustrating’ , in that it is perceived
as a threat or a path obstruction. As the second Kaufmann & Feshbach (1963b) study
indicated, the determining factor may be whether a person refrains from aggression because he
fears punishment or guilt, or because the rewards of nonaggression promise to exceed those of
aggression.
Feshbach’s aggression model
Feshbach (1971) uses the terms aggression and violence similarly, violence being reserved for
the more severe forms of physical aggression. At a descriptive level, the label aggression
might be applied to any behavioral sequence that results in injury to or destruction of an
animal, human or inanimate object. At the level of construct, or mediating process, this
definition is much too broad. One obvious distinction that needs to be made is between acts
that are ‘intentional’ or ‘motivated’ and acts that accidentally lead to injury. By unintentional
aggression, we refer to acts that, although resulting in injury, were not contingent upon their
injurious consequence.
Motivated aggressive acts can be further subdivided into instrumental aggression that is
directed toward the achievement of nonaggressive goals and aggressive drive for which the
goal response is injury to some animate or inanimate object.
It is possible, according to Feshbach, through the appropriate analysis of antecedent events
and reinforcing stimuli, to distinguish between aggressive acts that are predominantly
instrumental in character and aggressive acts that are mediated by aggressive drive. The
concept of aggressive drive does not, in this context, presuppose an instinct theory, or even a
modified instinct theory such as the frustration-aggression hypothesis.
The ethological studies suggest that what may be innate or instinctive in human aggression is
the evocation of aggressive responses by as yet to be specified stimuli. Thus, an aggressive
response, to use an old Hullian concept, may be high in the innate habit family hierarchy
elicited by particular frustrating stimuli. However, the concept of an instinctive aggressive
reaction is quite far from the notion of aggressive drive-mediated behavior, the goal of which
is the infliction of injury. Feshbach observes that intraspecies killing in animals is much rarer
than in humans, and the pursuit of a rival over space and time is a peculiarly human
phenomenon.
To complete the theoretical model, a further distinction is required between aggressive drive
and the affective response of anger. The set of autonomic and motoric responses which we
describe as anger is usually a component of the innate aggressive reaction to an eliciting
stimulus. However, since there appear to be innate aggressive reactions in which ‘anger’ is
minimal (Moyer, 1967), it is useful to seperately categorize the anger response. Anger and
aggressive drive are often used synonymously, and clinical observation would indicate they
are intimately related. Feshbach suggests that this relationship is a highly probable one in the
usual course of development, but it is not inevitable, and there are circumstances in which the
anger response can be detached from the motivation to inflict injury. One can obtain
satisfaction from the infliction of injury without being angry, and one can be angry without
wishing to injure the provoking agent.
The acquisition of aggressive drive.
It has been argued elsewhere (Feshbach, 1964) that the secondary reinforcement hypothesis
does not provide a satisfactory explanation of the origins of aggressive drive. The motivation
to inflict injury is rare in animal species other than man, and, in addition, aggressive behaviors
in young children are frequently followed by punishment to the aggressor rather than reward.
As an alternative or supplementary hypothesis, Feshbach suggests that aggressive drive arises
from the pairing of the infliction of injury with counteraggression. This pairing is reinforced
by cultural norms which state that retaliation is the appropriate response for an injured party.
The child learns that the aggressor must be punished, not merely for the purpose of inhibiting
subsequent aggression, but to redress the injury. The lex talionis becomes the basis, as it were,
for the internalization of aggressive drive.
Other cultural standards and psychological processes add to the satisfactions that humans
derive from the infliction of injury. For example, we have said little about the conditions
under which aggression becomes a stimulus for sexual gratification. Of greater importance is
the relationship between self-esteem and aggression. Violations to self-esteem through insult,
humiliation, or coercion are powerful elicitors of hostility, probably the most important source
of anger and aggressive drive in humans. Laboratory studies of aggression (Berkowitz, 1962;
Buss 1961) and clinical studies of violent men (Toch, 1969) consistently point to this
relationship.
Implicit in threats to self-esteem are the impotence and diminished status of the injured party.
One way of achieving a restoration of status and demonstrating one’s power is to injure the
provoking agent. Thus, an instrumental element is introduced into the satisfactions associated
with the infliction of injury.
The connection between status and aggression is especially exaggerated for males. The
warrior definition of the male image, so characteristic of preliterate societies, is not entirely
absent from our own. Feshbach asserts that the relationship between manliness and
aggressiveness may not be solely a matter of arbitrary cultural definition.
If sex and aggression are closely related, there is the possibility that inhibition of aggression
may result in a diminution of male potency. Freud maintained that inhibition of aggressive
impulses would result in a reduction of sexual pleasure, and clinical observations can be cited
to support this proposition. A study conducted by Feshbach & Jaffe (1970) indicated that the
experimentally induced inhibition of anger and aggression in male college students resulted in
a significant decrement on a subsequent measure of sexual arousal in response to erotic
stimuli.
Criticism of Drive and Energy Models of Aggression
Hinde (1960) criticized the motivational models of Freud, McDougall, Lorenz and Tinbergen.
These are only four of many in which energy concepts are used, but in them the energy
analogy is made explicit in terms of a mechanical model, instead of being merely implied by a
‘drive’ variable which is supposed to energize behavior.
In the psychoanalytic model (Freud, 1932; 1940) the id is pictured as a chaos of instinctive
energies which are supposed to originate from some source of stimulation within the body.
Their control is in the hands of the ego, which permits, postpones or denies their satisfaction.
In this the ego may be dominated by the super-ego. The energy with which Freud was
particularly concerned – the sexual energy or libido – is supposed not to require immediate
discharge. It can be postponed, repressed, sublimated, and so on. The source of this energy lies
in different erogenous zones as the individual develops, being successively oral, anal and
phallic, and it is in relation to these changes that the individual develops his responses to the
external world. The instinctual energy is supposed to undergo various vicissitudes, discussions
of which often imply that it can be stored, or that it can flow like a fluid. It may become
attached to objects represented by mental structures or processes (libidinal cathexes) and later
withdrawn from them in a manner that Freud (1940) likened to protoplasmic pseudo-podia; it
has also been compared with an electric charge. Thus some of the characterisitics of the
energy depend on its quantitative distribution.
McDougall (1913) envisaged energy liberated on the afferent side of the nervous system, and
held back by ‘sluice gates’. If the stimuli necessary to open the gates are not forthcoming, the
energy ‘bubbles over’ among the motor mechanisms to produce appetitive behavior. On
receipt of appropriate stimuli, one of the gates opens, and the afferent channels of this instinct
become the principal outlet for all available free energy. Later (1923) he used a rather more
complex analogy in which each instinct was pictured as a chamber in which gas is constantly
liberated. The gas can escape via pipes leading to the executive organs when the appropriate
lock(s) is opened. The gas is supposed to drive the motor mechanisms, just as an electric
motor is driven by electrical energy.
The models of Lorenz and Tinbergen have much in common with McDougall’s. Lorenz’
‘reaction specific energy’ was earlier (1937) thought of as a gas constantly being pumped into
a container, and later (e.g. 1950) as a liquid in a reservoir. In the latter case it is supposed that
the reservoir can discharge through a spring-loaded valve at the bottom. The valve is opened
in part by the hydrostatic pressure in the reservoir, and in part by a weight on a scale pan
which represents the external stimulus. As the reservoir discharges, the hydrostatic pressure
on the valve decreases, and thus a greater weight is necessary to open the valve again.
Tinbergen (1951) pictured a hierarchy of nervous centers, each of which has the properties of
a Lorenzian reservoir. Each center can be loaded with ‘motivational impulses’ from a
superordinated center and/or other sources. Until the appropriate stimulus is given the outflow
is blocked and the animal can show only appetitive behavior; when the block is removed the
impulses can flow into the subordinate center or be discharged in action.
The way in which the properties of the model may be confused with those of the original have
been discussed for Freudian theory by Meehl & MacCorquodale (1948). Concepts like libido
or super-ego may be introduced initially as intervening variables without material properties,
but such properties have a way of creeping into discussion without being made explicit. Thus
Meehl & MacCorquodale point out that libido may be introduced as a term for the ‘set of
sexual needs’ or ‘basic strivings’, but subsequently puzzling phenomena are explained in
terms of properties of libido, such that it flows, is dammed up, converted, regresses to earlier
channels, and so on. Such properties are introduced surreptitiously as occasion demands, and
involve a transition from admissible intervening variables, which carry no existence
postulates, to hypothetical constructs which require the existence of decidely improbable
entities and processes.
Such difficulties are especially likely to occur when a model which purports to be close to the
original, like that of Tinbergen, develops out of an ‘as if’ model, like that of Lorenz. This case
has been discussed by Hinde (1956).
In all energy models, the energy is supposed to build up and subsequently to be released in
action. McDougall, Lorenz and Tinbergen, all of whom were influenced by Wallace Craig,
compare the releasing stimulus to a key which opens a lock. This apparent dichotomy between
releasing and motivating effects is a property of the model, and may not be relevant to the
mechanisms underlying behavior.
In all these theories, the cessation of activity is ascribed to the discharge of energy – the
behavioral energy flows away as a consequence of performance. These models are misleading
because they are too simple – energy flow is supposed to control not only what happens
between stimulus and response, but also the drop in responsiveness when the response is
given. In practice, these may be due to quite different aspects of the mechanisms underlying
behavior: for instance the energy model leaves no room for inhibition (Kennedy, 1954).
Further, even if the cessation of activity is in some sense due to the performance, many
different processes may be involved: the mechanism is not a unitary one, as the energy model
implies.
Secondly, if activity is due to the accumulation of energy and cessation to its discharge, the
organisms should come to rest when the energy level is minimal. In fact, much behavior
serves the function of bringing the animal into conditions of increased stimulation. This has
been shown dramatically with humans subjected to acute sensory deprivation – the
experimental conditions are intolerable in spite of the considerable financial reward offered
(Bexton, Heron & Scott, 1954). Energy models are in difficulty over accounting for such
‘reactions to deficit’ (Lashley, 1938).
In these energy models, each type of behavior is related to the flow of energy. Increase in
strength of the behavior is due to an increased flow of energy, decrease to a diminished flow.
The strength of behavior is thus related to a single mechanism. It is, however, apparent that
changes in responsiveness to a constant stimulus may he due to many different processes in
the nervous system and in the body as a whole – for instance, the changes consequent upon
performance may affect one response or many, may or may not be specific to the stimulus, and
may have recovery periods varying from seconds to months. Energy models, by lumping
together diverse processes which affect the strength of behavior, can lead to an
over-simplification of the mechanisms underlying it, and distract attention from the
complexities of the behavior itself. Similarly, energy models are in difficulty with the almost
cyclic short-term waxing and waning of such activities as the response of chaffinches to owls,
the song of many birds, and so on.
Kubie (1947) has emphasized this point with reference to the psychoanalytic model. Changes
in behavior are referred to quantitative changes in energy distribution, but in fact so many
variables are involved (repression, displacement, substitution, etc.) that it is not justifiable to
make easy guesses about what varied to produce a given state. Similar difficulties in relation
to other models have been discussed by Hinde (1959).
Tinbergen’s model translated the Lorenzian reservoir into nervous ‘centers’. Changes in
response strength are ascribed to the loading of these centers. Now for many types of behavior
it is indeed possible to identify loci in the diencephalon whose ablation leads to the
disappearance of the behavior, whose stimulation leads to its elicitation, and where hormones
or solutions produce appropriate effects on behavior. There is, however, no evidence that
‘energy’ is accumulated in such centers, nor that response strength depends solely on their
state. Indeed the strength of any response depends on many structures, neural and non-neural,
and there is no character-by-character correspondence between such postulated centers and
any structure in the brain.
Another difficulty which arises from the use of energy models, though by no means peculiar
to them, is due to the emphasis laid on the independence of different activities. Lorenz &
Tinbergen (1938) write “If ever we may say that only part of an organism is involved in a
reaction, it may confidently be said of instinctive action”. Activities are interpreted as due to
energies acting in specific structures and not as responses of the organisms as a whole. Both
types of attitude carry disadvantages, but an overemphasis on the independence of activities
leads to a neglect of, for instance, sensory, metabolic or temperamental factors which affect
many activities.
The central nervous system is not normally inert, having to be prodded into activity by
specific stimuli external to it. Rather it is in a state of continuous activity – a state supported
primarily by the non-specific effects of stimuli acting through the brainstem reticular system.
Factors such as stimuli and hormones which affect specific patterns of behavior are to be
thought of as controlling this activity, of increasing the probability of one pattern rather than
another. Changes in strength or threshold can thus be thought of as changes in the probability
of one pattern of activity rather than another, and not as changes in the level of energy in a
specific neural mechanism (Hinde, 1960).
The prolonged and often acrimonious controversy over whether aggression is an innate
characteristic of animals is based in large part on the failure to make a distinction between the
motor patterns by which aggression is expressed and the stimuli that elicit aggression. The
motor sequence might be innate for any given species in the sense that it is similar in all
members of that species and does not require learning. For any given animal, however, the
probability that a particular stimulus or situation will elicit aggression is quite variable and is
clearly dependent on previous learning (Lore & Flannelly, 1977).