I was at the Frankfurt Opera with my wife on Saturday where Mozart's Don Giovanni was playing for the final time this season. We enjoyed the opera, but I saw Don Giovanni with completely different eyes than the last time I saw it about 30 years ago – back then I had not yet fully engaged with behavioural economics or behavioural living. You've heard of Don Giovanni, the rogue with all the women? In Spanish, he's Don Juan, the great seducer whose infidelity destroys not only the life of his wife, Doña Elvira, but also those of countless other women. Formerly, I hadn't been aware of the women's ambivalence in the run-up to their inevitable heartbreak at the hands of the famous womaniser. His amorous pursuits, like the peasant Zerlina, are entranced by Don Juan's good looks and mystique, are ready to yield to temptation, but then remember at the last moment that they are already sworn to another. At least, the Frankfurt production painted Zerlina's fiancé, Masetto, as a colourless figure with none of the passion and fireworks that promised Don Juan.
I also admired the figure of Giovanni because, despite his misdeeds, he did not feel the slightest regret or remorse. Regret aversion, the fear that a decision could prove to be wrong, is totally alien to him. He knows he can head off any attacks by vengeful lovers through further trickery, and he succeeds so well that his confidence in his own abilities grows immeasurably (overconfidence). He even cons his poor servant Leporello into sticking out his neck for him (of course, for a bonus). In the end, convinced of his own of omnipotence, he goes as far as to invite the Stone Guest, the personification of death, to dinner.
During the intermission, we overheard a conversation among a group of young women in the lobby that would have sent a sensitive new-age man reeling: "At least he gets off his arse, that Don Giovanni," said one of them appreciatively. Her friends nodded in wistful agreement.
After the pause, it was the theatre director who came onto the stage instead of the players – a bad sign, I thought. Indeed, he had to share the bad news that the Commendatore, the Stone Guest, had injured himself so badly while stepping onto the elevator that heaves him from the realm of the dead beneath the stage into the spotlight. He had to be taken away by ambulance. Should this mean that Don Giovanni will get away with his misdeeds and not be punished? I fidgeted in my seat, as any student of behavioural economics would; in this field, it is overconfidence that comes before a fall. But no, the performance was not to be interrupted. The Frankfurt Opera had already found a solution. The Commendatore's aria was delivered from off-stage by a hastily summoned singer, while the Stone Guest on the stage was played by a stuntman. He played the part so well that he was able to transport the still unrepentant Don Giovanni – who we would describe as 'trapped in the commitment trap' – to the afterlife with a simple wrestling hold.
Don Giovanni entered into the fires of hell with his head held high, fell into the flames, screamed one last note of rebellion, and went silent. You could have put that business to rest there, but the opera ended with the comforting statement that good would always prevail. We also learnt that more than 200 years ago, when Mozart composed this work, that there must have been something close to full employment, because Don Giovanni's servant Leporello swiftly announced that he would go immediately to the inn and seek a new master.
Related posts:
- A Tale of Two Moralities
- Guttenberg: Comic-Book or Fairy-Tale?
- Goldman vs. Gold-women
- An Evening at the Opera? Not Quite
- Not Even the ECB Wants the Euro
Tags: overconfidence, regret aversion