Blog on mind and brain research and advice

What’s the Link between Creativity and Mental Illness?

August 14, 2014 by Joycelyn Campbell 1 Comment

Do the words tortured and genius go hand-in-hand? If you’re highly creative does that mean you’re more susceptible to mental illness? Do you, in fact, need to have a mental illness in order to be creative?

The link between creativity and mental illness has been a subject of discussion and speculation at least since Aristotle suggested there was one. More recently, it has been the subject of much scientific study. The topic is in the limelight once again due to Robin Williams’ suicide.

This edition of Brain & Mind Roundup (#5) links to four articles by, or citing the work of, Nancy Andreasen and Shelly Cooper, two researchers who study creativity and who have published books on creativity and the brain.

Click on the titles to read the full articles.

Secrets of the Creative Brain

Nancy Andreasen (The Atlantic)

Andreasen is a psychiatrist and neuroscientist who began exploring the anecdotal link between creativity and mental illness in the 1960s when she studied a group of writers from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. She writes:

I have spent much of my career focusing on the neuroscience of mental illness, but in recent decades I’ve also focused on what we might call the science of genius, trying to discern what combination of elements tends to produce particularly creative brains. What, in short, is the essence of creativity? Over the course of my life, I’ve kept coming back to two more-specific questions: What differences in nature and nurture can explain why some people suffer from mental illness and some do not? And why are so many of the world’s most creative minds among the most afflicted?

The Relationship between Creativity and Mental Illness

At brainpickings, Maria Popova provides a beautiful and thoughtful presentation of Nancy Andreason’s book The Creating Brain: The Neuroscience of Genius. Popova says:

One of the most interesting chapters in the book deals with the correlation between creativity and mental illness, bringing scientific rigor to such classic anecdotal examples as those evidenced in Van Gogh’s letters or Sylvia Plath’s journals or Leo Tolstoy’s diary of depression or Virginia Woolf’s suicide note. Having long opposed the toxic “tortured genius” myth of creativity, I was instantly intrigued by Andreasen’s inquiry, the backdrop of which she paints elegantly:

Did mental illness facilitate [these creators’] unique abilities, whether it be to play a concerto or to perceive a novel mathematical relationship? Or did mental illness impair their creativity after its initial meteoric burst in their twenties? Or is the relationship more complex than a simple one of cause and effect, in either direction?

And this is where the monumental importance of her study shines: What Andreasen found wasn’t confirmation for the “tortured genius” myth — the idea that a great artist must have some dark, tragic pathology in order to create — but quite the opposite: these women and men had become successful writers not because of their tortuous mental health but despite it.

The Real Link Between Creativity and Mental Illness

Scott Barry Kaufman (SciAm)

Scott Barry Kaufman, Scientific Director of The Imagination Institute and a researcher in the Positive Psychology Center at the University of Pennsylvania, investigates the measurement and development of imagination. He questions Andreason’s findings and looks deeper, writing:

The oft-cited studies by Kay Redfield Jamison, Nancy Andreasen, and Arnold Ludwig showing a link between mental illness and creativity have been criticized on the grounds that they involve small, highly specialized samples with weak and inconsistent methodologies and a strong dependence on subjective and anecdotal accounts.

Is there any germ of truth to the link between creativity and mental illness? The latest research suggests there is something to the link, but the truth is much more interesting.

It seems that the key to creative cognition is opening up the flood gates and letting in as much information as possible. Because you never know: sometimes the most bizarre associations can turn into the most productively creative ideas. Indeed, Shelley Carson and her colleagues found that the most eminent creative achievers among a sample of Harvard undergrads were seven times more likely to have reduced latent inhibition.

Latent inhibition is a filtering mechanism that we share with other animals, and it is tied to the neurotransmitter dopamine. A reduced latent inhibition allows us to treat something as novel, no matter how may times we’ve seen it before and tagged it as irrelevant. Prior research shows a link between reduced latent inhibition and schizophrenia.

Creativity and Psychopathology: A Shared Vulnerability Model

In this paper, Shelly Carson, Harvard researcher on creativity, psychopathology, and resilience, and author of The Creative Brain: Seven Steps to Maximize Imagination, Productivity, and Innovation in Your Life, reviews “the empirical evidence for an elevated risk of three disorders in creative individuals: mood disorders, schizospectrum disorders, and alcoholism.”

While creativity is considered a positive personal trait, highly creative individuals have demonstrated elevated risk for certain forms of psychopathology. [In] this paper I argue that a model of shared vulnerability explains the relationship between creativity and psychopathology. This model, supported by recent findings from neuroscience and molecular genetics, suggests that biological determinants that confer risk for psychopathology interact with protective cognitive factors to enhance creative ideation.

Carson

Elements of shared vulnerability include cognitive disinhibition (which allows increased stimuli into conscious awareness), an attentional style that is driven by novelty-salience, and neural hyperconnectivity that may increase associations among disparate stimuli. These vulnerabilities interact with superior meta-cognitive protective factors, such as high IQ, working memory capacity, and cognitive flexibility, to produce an enlarged body of stimuli that is available in conscious awareness to be manipulated and combined to form novel and original ideas.

~ ~ ~

Reading and writing about this topic inevitably makes me think of my partner, who died nearly 10 years ago. He had a very high IQ, good working memory, and great cognitive flexibility, all of which seem to have mitigated the vulnerability factors, which were also present. He was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which wreaked some havoc in his early and mid-life before it was treated. At times, he was more than a little eccentric, with maybe a touch of mad genius about him. (Always interesting, that’s for sure!)

He was extremely creative, prolifically so, in a variety of areas–especially writing, art, and music–and he continued to be creative while he was on medication, which was very effective for him. So clearly his bipolar bent, if you will, didn’t cause him to be creative. But there was definitely a link there. Those areas of shared vulnerability were significantly moderated by medication, but also by his own awareness and self-monitoring. And maybe that’s something to take away from this, too. Self-awareness and self-monitoring are great tools for keeping us grounded even in the midst of our wildest flights of imagination.

What’s Wrong with Precommitment Devices?

August 10, 2014 by Joycelyn Campbell 3 Comments

Odysseus tied on the mast. Icon for the Greek ...

A precommitment device is a strategy for forcing yourself to do something you think you should do but you don’t actually want to do. You might resort to a precommitment device if your will power and self-control have failed to do the trick. The most famous example of someone using a precommitment device is Odysseus having himself tied to the mast of his ship to avoid the temptation of the sirens.

The most common precommitment devices involve agreeing to forfeit a certain sum of money if you fail to achieve a goal or accomplish a particular task. You could make an agreement with yourself to donate money to a charity if you fail to attend the gym three times a week, lose a specific amount of weight, or complete the next chapter of your book. Of course, if you’re the only one who knows about this agreement, you can easily waffle and wiggle your way out of it.

A more binding agreement would be to agree to pay a friend that same amount of money if you fail to meet your goal. Not only would you lose money, you would also experience some degree of shame. That’s the premise behind precommitment devices: we will do what’s good for us in order to avoid the threat of negative consequences. That’s also what makes them problematic.

Underlying the popularity of precommitment devices is the assumption that we are, in general, rational beings who want to avoid negative consequences. But there’s not a lot of evidence support that idea, and if it were true, we wouldn’t need precommitment devices to begin with. Rational beings who were aware of potential negative consequences would all be healthy, law-abiding, diligent, honest, tidy, sober, rule-following good citizens. Obviously, we are not all that. Precommitment devices have something in common with affirmations, which is that the people they work for probably need them the least.

Loss aversion is one rationale offered for using precommitment devices. It’s true we are programmed to avoid losses, but a loss of enjoyment can be experienced as a loss, too. In some cases a more significant loss than the loss of a few bucks.

Another problem with precommitment devices is that they are black and white. Either you do it or you don’t. You win or you lose. You avoid temptation or you give in to it. This isn’t a scenario that allows for being present, noticing what’s actually happening, learning something about yourself or what you’re attempting to do, or adjusting your course. This is more about getting the upper hand over your recalcitrant, weak-willed self. And when the next such situation arises, you will have to do battle with that bad boy self all over again.

There’s Another Way to Make a Precommitment

Creating an intention is a form of precommitment, too, but one without the threat of negative consequences. Creating an intention also takes into consideration the fact that what you’re attempting is not easy, but without judging your supposed lack of self-control. Changing any behavior is difficult simply because we’re wired to keep doing whatever we have been doing. Creating an intention—as part of the I.A.P. process—allows you to focus on something you want to do or be as opposed to something you don’t want to do or be. It helps you keep your attention on your desired outcome and motivates you to keep going, one step at a time, even when the going is difficult. Instead of having to be good or pay the price for being bad, you aim to keep getting better. You don’t have to initiate or engage in an inner struggle with yourself. And instead of forking over cash when you fail, you get to reward yourself when you succeed.

Have you ever used a precommitment device? If so, how did it work for you?

Introducing the Manifesto

August 7, 2014 by Joycelyn Campbell 1 Comment

Company manifestos have become popular probably in part because they’re a lot more interesting than mission statements. The best manifestos are fun, visually appealing, and succinct. The worst spout interchangeable vague generalities—or at least seem to—and sacrifice quality for quantity, verbiage-wise.

I wanted to avoid those pitfalls. So in spite of the fact that I love words and fonts nearly equally, it took me quite a while to get around to creating a manifesto for Farther to Go! The specific content eluded me—until it didn’t. Just another example of how clarity makes the path ahead obvious.

When I sat down to put this together last weekend, it was effortless. I asked for feedback from a handful of people who are familiar with the work, and one person responded, “The courses in a nutshell.” After making a few minor tweaks, I sent it off to the printer.

For me, creating this was a great exercise in identifying what Farther to Go! is all about. It’s also a reminder of the many things I’ve learned along the way, some of which I need to relearn from time to time. I hope you enjoy it.

Click here to view the Farther to Go! manifesto at full size or to download it.

You and Your Stuff

August 3, 2014 by Joycelyn Campbell 2 Comments

cluttered_room

Do you have too much stuff? Most of us would probably answer in the affirmative. I’ve lightened my material load considerably, but I still have too much stuff, too. Our relationship with our stuff can be complicated, thought. And it’s partly due to those complications that, instead of getting rid of some of it, we continue to accumulate more and more. Holding on to things becomes a habit.

My deep and now-abiding interest in clutter and having too much stuff (the two often go together) is related to the effect it has on the brain. Clutter tends to snag your attention on a regular basis and in dozens of different ways. It takes up space in your head that could be better occupied by something more productive or even just more interesting. You don’t have an unlimited amount of System 2 (conscious) attention. How much of it are you letting your stuff siphon off?

Not sure? Here are a baker’s dozen questions to ask yourself.

How much stuff are you holding onto because you might need it someday?
How much stuff are you holding onto because it has financial value or “might be” valuable?
How much stuff are you holding onto because it has sentimental value?
How much stuff are you holding onto simply because it’s already there?
How much stuff do you think you’re holding onto that you probably don’t even know you have?
How many clothes or shoes do you have that you no longer wear—or that don’t even belong to you?
How many drawers, cabinets, closets, countertops, and shelves are so full you can’t fit anything else in or on them?
How much work do you have to do before you can clean your living or work space?
How much time do you spend looking for things? Have you ever failed to respond to something because you lost track of the paperwork?
How much of your stuff needs to be repaired, refinished, repurposed, or recycled?
How often do you notice something in your living or work space and think “I really need to do something about that”?
Have you ever panicked at the thought of someone coming into your home and seeing the mess? Conversely, have you ever said, “You think your place is bad, you should see mine”?
How many times have you gotten everything in one area completely tidy and organized only to find the clutter slowly creeping back months, weeks, or even days later?

Maybe it’s time for you to take the plunge and clear some space. Clearing space isn’t the same as getting organized. (In fact, it’s possible to be an extremely well-organized hoarder.) Clearing space means getting rid of things you no longer use or need. After you’ve done that, you’ll probably find it much easier to organize what remains.

Clearing your physical space can have a profound effect on your well-being in many different ways. It can give you clarity. It can ease your mind. It can relieve you of at least some of the guilt, anxiety, or depression that often accompanies being weighed down by too much stuff. It can create space for something new.

Clearing space can change your life! It changed mine.

U Is for Unconscious

July 31, 2014 by Joycelyn Campbell 3 Comments

Three things we don’t like, all beginning with u: uncertainty, unsolved problems, and urgency. Combine the three and we’re likely to encounter another u word: uncomfortable. Actually, uncomfortable is putting it mildly. Our discomfort with the triumvirate of uncertainty, unsolved problems, and urgency is so strong we will go to great, sometimes absurd, lengths to avoid experiencing or even acknowledging it.

That’s…unfortunate. For at least two reasons.

First, in our haste to return to the illusory state of certainty, we tend to do things like jump to conclusions, accept the first answer or explanation that comes to mind (consistent with our preexisting beliefs), make a mess by acting prematurely, or immobilize ourselves in endless rounds of rumination. Rumination feels like problem-solving but it’s the opposite.

Second, by refusing to let ourselves experience—and appreciate—the discomfort that accompanies uncertainty, unsolved problems, and urgency, we deny ourselves another experience: the pure joy of the aha! moment when a solution presents itself. It may take a while, but suddenly what was murky and inchoate becomes bright and clear. The path ahead becomes obvious. I say the solution “presents itself” because although we tend to take credit for coming up with the brilliant idea or flash of insight, the part of our brain we identify with had little to do with it. It’s the unconscious that figured it out and then clued us in.

One of the reasons waiting it out while the unconscious does its thing makes us squirm is that we have no control over the process. It isn’t going to occur by the force of our will or on our timetable. When we try to make it happen we usually just end up getting in our own way and muddling the process.

Something that’s helped me develop an appreciation for—if not a wholehearted embrace of—uncertainty and the other u states is recognizing the times when I’m unclear or don’t have enough information. No matter how desperately I might want to act, if I’m not sure which action to take, I wait until the next thing to do becomes apparent.

That still makes me uncomfortable, and certainly no one would describe me as a patient person. But I’ve had enough of these experiences that I’ve come to expect an answer or a solution to show up. A pattern will be seen. Dots will be connected. I’ve learned to trust the unconscious part of my brain in these situations even though I can’t observe what it’s doing.

I’m learning to give credit where credit is due. After all, the hamster with the rudder (the conscious part of my brain) would go nowhere at all without the hamster on the wheel (the unconscious part of my brain).

It isn’t easy, but rather than trying to get back to comfortable and certain as quickly as possible, we can develop a tolerance for the discomfort. We can even learn to appreciate the uncertainty, the knottiness of an unsolved problem, and the urgency of the situation. Whatever is on the other side of our current distress is unimaginable to us now, but it could be amazing—even awesome. Why take the chance of missing out on something awesome just to avoid feeling a little uncomfortable?