The Pleasure of the Fall — Why We Watch Others Burn

They were just two people at a concert.

Caught in a moment.

And then—Millions were watching.

The kiss cam panned.

The crowd cheered.

An intimate moment was being shared.

And somewhere behind the lens, someone realized: this wasn’t a couple. Not the “right” couple anyway.

The story took off.

And we followed.

Commented.

Judged.

Laughed.

It’s easy to pretend we’re above it.

But the truth is—something in us likes it. Something in us feeds off it.

This isn’t just about infidelity. Or viral videos. Or celebrity gossip.

This is a deeper pattern in our species.

We lift people up.

And then we tear them down.

Why?

The Archetype of the Fall

There’s an archetypal pattern here—one as old as myth. The rise and fall. The hero’s ascent followed by public crucifixion. We’ve seen it with gods and kings, prophets and pop stars. The golden child becomes the cautionary tale. From Jesus to Britney, we watch the cycle play out again and again.

It’s not just a cultural habit—it’s a psychic script.

Psychologist Carl Jung spoke of the shadow—the repressed, unacknowledged parts of ourselves. When we see someone fall, it gives our shadow somewhere to land. Their downfall becomes a kind of permission to exhale our envy, our rage, our disillusionment. It reassures us: They’re not better than me after all. See? They’re broken too.

It’s not pretty. But it’s human.

Schadenfreude and the Group Mind

The Germans gave it a name: Schadenfreude—pleasure derived from another’s misfortune.

This isn’t a sign that people are evil. It’s a coping mechanism for a world built on competition and scarcity. When life feels like a race, and someone trips, there’s a twisted relief in knowing we’re not last anymore.

And this intensifies in groups.

In group dynamics—whether in a crowd, a mob, or a comment section—accountability dissolves. Psychology calls it deindividuation. We become less ourselves, more the group. And the group, if unexamined, can be cruel. In groups, we offload guilt and amplify judgment. We’re faster to mock. Slower to empathize. We lose the face-to-face cost of cruelty.

Social media is a perfect storm.

The Architecture of Outrage

Social media rewards speed, certainty, and outrage. Its algorithms are tuned to feed us what will keep us hooked. And nothing hooks like conflict.

Platforms are not neutral stages. They are engineered battlegrounds where hot takes rise and nuance dies. When a scandal breaks, we are invited—almost dared—to pick a side, share our indignation, and prove our moral superiority.

But behind our posts is a silent transaction: If I point to your shame, I can hide my own.

Would we say the same thing if we had to look into their eyes?

If we saw the full humanity, the heartbreak, the messy complexity?

I doubt it.

The Hidden Story: Power, Envy, and Projection

There’s another layer, one we rarely admit.

Many of the people we love to watch fall are people we once envied.

Celebrities. Leaders. Influencers. Even neighbours with “too much confidence.” There’s a collective ambivalence about success. We’re taught to aspire to it. But we’re also taught to resent those who seem to have more. When someone climbs too high, our unconscious asks: Who do they think they are?

It’s as if we’re constantly keeping tally of a secret social contract: If I can’t have it, you shouldn’t either.

So when someone falls, it satisfies a deeper resentment—not just at the individual, but at the system they seemed to “win.”

We don’t just tear down individuals.

We tear down the myth of exceptionalism.

And in that act, we momentarily reclaim power.

What If There’s Something Else Beneath It?

But maybe there’s more than cruelty in this pattern.

Maybe the fascination with downfall isn’t just about tearing down—it’s about truth.

In a world addicted to performance, the fall is a glimpse behind the curtain.

It’s real. Raw. Undeniably human.

And maybe, just maybe, we’re drawn to it because we are starving for authenticity.

We want to know we’re not alone in our messiness, our mistakes, our contradictions.

The problem isn’t the longing to see truth.

The problem is that we’ve confused destruction with revelation.

So Now What?

I don’t have a tidy answer.

But I do have some questions.

• What if we chose to be more curious than cruel?

• What if we paused before sharing that next viral video?

• What if we wondered what pain the person in the clip might carry?

• What if we asked: What part of me feels fed by this?And what part of me might need something else?

Maybe compassion isn't just a moral ideal.

Maybe it’s an evolutionary edge.

The step beyond our base instincts.

The choice to create a new pattern.

A pattern where we still see the fall—

but we also imagine the rising.