Champions of the Lost Cause

Obsession, defiance, grit: The line between indomitable genius and hopeless holdout is blurred. We all have the capacity to chase unlikely dreams, but for some people, the pursuit becomes its own reward.

By Kathleen McGowan, published on March 01, 2007 - last reviewed on May 15, 2007

In the spring of 2005, the Israeli government told the settler families of the Gaza Strip and the northern West Bank that they would have to go. Prime minister Ariel Sharon announced it, the legislature endorsed it, and the Israeli people backed the plan. Settler families—many of them zealots convinced the territory was their gift from God—were given a clear deadline. If they didn't leave by August 15, the Israeli Army would arrest them, bulldoze their homes, and turn the rubble over to the Palestinians for new construction.

Many did leave, but many dug in and stayed on. Even as the tanks rolled in, they planted their gardens and renovated their homes. As late as April, a group of residents in the seaside town of Shirat Hayam, in Gaza Strip, were hard at work building a brand new synagogue.

"We're deliberately repressing it, strategically refusing to deal with the possibility that it's a lost cause," school supervisor Michael Picard told the Chicago Tribune. "I won't pack up anything, and I will believe until the last minute that it won't happen." Another settler vehemently seconded his defiance: "We trust in God that he will nullify this decree."

Their attempt to hang on was a quintessential lost cause: a pointless and foreseeable failure. As promised, the army removed all the settlers by mid-August, many of them by bodily force. By mid-September, Palestinian children were playing on the beach.

You don't have to look so far from home to find examples of people who can't or won't recognize hopeless odds. Harry Truman, an 83-year-old curmudgeon who made his last stand at his lodge near Mount Saint Helens, had his moment of fame when he refused to listen to the geologists who told him in the spring of 1980 that the volcano was going to blow. Determined to defend his property, he hunkered down there at the base of the volcano with his pink Cadillac and his 16 cats—right through the torrent of ash that killed him. It was man against mountain, and the mountain won.

Paging Saint Jude: there's a whole world of people who refuse to give up on lost causes. From promoters of Esperanto (The International Language That Works!) to the stalwarts of the Flat Earth Society, some people's persistence goes far beyond the ordinary—and perhaps beyond good judgment. Modern-day royalists? Shakers? You may think their goals will never see the light of day, but they persist—despite the odd looks and the long odds.

In truth, it's not easy to predict who will turn out to be a visionary and who a crank, says psychologist Angela Duckworth of the University of Pennsylvania, who studies the traits that lead to success. Geniuses and catastrophic failures share many of the same characteristics, including determination, intense concentration, passion, and a disregard for conventional wisdom. "And both are willing to persist when everyone else thinks it's a ridiculously low-probability idea," she adds.

Sometimes, the passion is fueled by pathological stubbornness or tragic obsession. A man who stands up to an exploding mountain is obviously taking grit a little too far. Other people get caught in narrow spirals of compulsion: Alcoholics and gamblers, for example, become fixed on self-destruction. Obsessive-compulsives and anorexics drive themselves relentlessly toward their idea of perfection—an impossible goal.

But true lost causes are more complex than obsessions. They're double-edged, blending psychic rewards with the guarantee of defeat. Whether through the roiled-up hormonal chemistry of an unrequited romance, the passion for a struggling sports team, or the reinforcing ties of a community of fellow believers, devotion to the cause brings pride, joy, and deep gratification along with frustration. The rewards are so great and the motives so deep that the struggle goes on, despite the evidence that you can never win.

Commitment to a lost cause also matures over time. Maybe you're born to a place that is changing despite your efforts to stop it; maybe you become enchanted with an idea that's ahead of its time. What starts as an ordinary mistake or stroke of bad luck takes root and grows until it becomes part of who you are. You're hooked, and that commitment fosters camaraderie, stokes motivational systems in the brain, and offers a pathway out of the tedium of everyday life. Under these conditions, failure can feel exactly like success.

The Underdog: Why Losers Have More Fun

Nobody chooses to be a fan of the Chicago Cubs, the most beloved of all of baseball's losers. Being a Cubs fan chooses you—and then it defines who you are. "It's part of my life, not just a diversion," says Al Yellon, who went to his first game at age 7 and has attended almost every one of the team's home games since 1997—some 1900 in all.

Wrigley Field regulars are a fan paradox. Most people follow a team for the chance to exult when their team wins. They become so closely identified with the players that their hormones surge and ebb according to the team's performance. Fans actually pay a physiological price when their team loses, which explains why people gravitate toward winners.

So why would you love a team that is legendary for losing? In baseball, Cubs fans are notorious for their passion and their devotion, much more so than fans of perennial winners like the New York Yankees. Most of the tickets sell before the season even starts, and despite last year's lousy performance, Wrigley had its second-highest attendance ever.