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Brain-Based Transformational Solutions

Something’s Happening Here

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Something happens. You get a phone call, say, or a friend invites you to a movie—or cancels a movie date—or you wake up on a Monday or a Saturday or from a nap or from being sedated, or you read a news article, or the line at the grocery checkout is longer or shorter than it normally is. Something happens. Anything. Anything at all.

The unconscious part of your brain interprets what happens in order to figure out what it means to you. And it does that so it can determine what action you will take next.

Your brain is predictive, so it was already on the job looking for specific information when the thing that happened—let’s call it an event—occurred. Your brain’s interpretation is instantaneous and presents with a high level of certainty. So much certainty, in fact, that you conflate the interpretation with the event itself. This is automatic.

Your brain formulates its interpretations via the mental model it maintains of what is normal for you, which is based primarily on beliefs you have about the way the world works. It’s easy to conflate the interpretation of an event with the event itself because you believe your experience is an accurate reflection of reality. Almost everyone holds this belief. But experience and reality are not the same thing. Furthermore, our experience is based on our interpretations and not on events themselves.

To recap: something happens and your brain immediately interprets it based on your unconscious beliefs about the way the world works in order to determine an appropriate action to take. The action, like your experience, is based on your brain’s interpretation of the event rather than on the event itself. By the time you become consciously aware of the action you are taking, it’s a done deal.

You may feel that you consciously intended or initiated the action (made the choice to take it), but you did not. That’s not how your brain works. It has to keep making the choice of what to do next. And next. And next. And next. Ordinary consciousness is far too limited to manage that process; all it can do is note some aspects of it after the fact.

Just as your experience and your actions are based on your brain’s interpretations, so are your emotional responses. You likely have an emotional response to your interpretation, as well as to the outcome of your action.

So what you are consciously aware of (whether or not in so many words) are your brain’s interpretations of events, your emotional responses, and the actions you take. What you are not consciously aware of is the beliefs that underlie your brain’s interpretations. In addition, if you’re like most people, you probably find it difficult to separate the facts of events from your interpretations of them.

What’s really amazing about belief is that biologically, what we believe about the world shapes the way our bodies respond to it. —Agustin Fuentes, anthropologist

When our interpretations of what’s going on around us or to us jibe with our beliefs we experience cognitive ease. That makes our brain happy and allows us to continue merrily on our way—no matter if we’re right or if we’re wrong. Of course, all of our interpretations are based on our beliefs, so this ongoing sense of cognitive ease is the usual state of affairs. Whether or not we like what’s going on is beside the point. It’s important to the brain to have a sense of certainty about what’s happening and what caused it to happen. The upshot is that we are not motivated to recognize our interpretations as interpretations rather than accurate representations of reality.

Even on the occasions when our expectations are not met, we rarely take the opportunity to explore the basis of them—or even recognize them as expectations based on interpretations, which in turn are based on beliefs.

This is unfortunate. It’s one of the reasons why transformational change is possible but not probable. But there’s a question we can ask that could change everything.

Part one of two parts.

Games People Play

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Since I began rereading Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, I’ve noticed coincidences of birds and of John Updike. (That’s two, and I’m barely into the book, so I’m starting a mental list.)

Birds haven’t featured prominently in my life or lexicon, other than their presence in the big tree outside my bedroom, which they’re attracted to in part due to my upstairs neighbors’ feeders. That and sometimes they remind me of The Producers.

John Updike features even less prominently, although that was not the case a few decades back. I devoured most of the Rabbit books, the Bech books, Marry Me, The Centaur, and lots of collected short stories (Too Far to Go, The Music School, etc.), among others.

Some of us have a tendency to perceive meaning in coincidences. As for me, I’ve been there, done that, and thankfully survived reading way too much Carl Jung during my formative years. Now I understand that the conscious part of my brain can only process about 40 bits of information at a time, and what it gets to chew on depends on what the unconscious part of my brain thinks might be useful—or will at least keep the conscious part occupied and hopefully out of trouble.

So the unconscious sifts through the 11 million bits it’s taking in at any given moment and … on the fly, so to speak … funnels a minuscule amount to consciousness, which operates as if it has a … bird’s eye view … of what is going on—and, more importantly, knows what it all means.

Of course, the meaning comes from us, not from what is outside of us. So things mean whatever we believe them to mean, based on our brain’s interpretations. We are, as David DiSalvo says in What Makes Your Brain Happy and Why You Should Do the Opposite, meaning makers.

Everything Is an Interpretation

Our experience of reality is a result of our interpretations, and the vast majority of those interpretations come from the unconscious, which is only concerned about meaning insofar as it affects the next action we’re about to take.

However, we treat all of our interpretations as if they are reality, which leads to a very static, literal, and concrete view of the world. And that worldview is affected much less than we might think by looking for and perceiving meaning in symbols, coincidences, objects, and occurrences. Because when we find meaning in those things, we’re operating as if the meaning is fixed within the objects or the occurrences: static, literal, concrete.

It is the unconscious that processes associatively rather than linearly. So it’s the unconscious that links bird with the notion of freedom or hope or anything else. But only if our mental model contains a belief that the appearance of birds means something other than what is apparent. If you’re tempted to consider that the unconscious has some specialized or secret info that it’s accessing, remember that this is the same unconscious that is addicted to pattern recognition (one result of which is stereotyping) and is riddled with cognitive biases (including our all-time favorite, confirmation bias) for the express purpose of being able to quickly jump to conclusions.

Delusional and Disempowering

Ray Grasse wrote a book titled The Waking Dream, which is subtitled Unlocking the Symbolic Language of Our Lives. He quotes Nikos Kazantzakis from Zorba the Greek:

Everything in this world has a hidden meaning. Men, animals, trees, stars, they are hieroglyphics. …When you see them, you do not understand them. You think they are really men, animals, trees, stars.

On the surface, this might be appealing. But there’s so much to unpack in those three sentences, so many assumptions underlying them. At the foundation is the belief that there are specific meanings one can ultimately deduce—again, meanings that are fixed and located within the things of the world. They are there for us to uncover or not.

I take the idea of unlocking the symbolic language of our lives to be another version of the game of finding our life-purpose cheese. There’s no there there.

As it is, life is empty and meaningless and it’s empty and meaningless that life is empty and meaningless. And, hey, we’re making meaning, anyway. We can’t do otherwise. It seems the height (or one height, anyway) of idiocy to fail to recognize that we are the source of the meaning we’re making. It’s somewhat delusional and seriously disempowering.

Neuroscientist Anil Seth reminds us that the color green exists neither in the object we’re viewing, nor in our brain, but in the interaction between the two. In other words, it’s not fixed; it’s an interpretation.

We’re in ongoing interaction with all of the world we inhabit. Both we and the world are in constant motion at all times. Reality is anything but static, literal, or concrete. We’re making it up as we go, and we’re never in the same place twice. A far more interesting series of question to ask is what is my brain bringing to my attention, what meaning am I making of it, and what does this say about who my brain thinks I am?

So what to do with two broken wrists, a bird in my bedroom and the sound of two doors closing? I am a writer, and I keep thinking there must be a connection to make, that these are pieces of a puzzle, that there is some way everything fits together. I’m damned if I know what it is. The more I squirrel around for a meaning, the more reluctant I am to consider the obvious. But the significance of a closing door is not lost on me, and I’ve never felt quite this mortal. It’s a beautiful word, “mortal,” rhyming with “portal,” which sounds optimistic. And really, who wants to live forever? How tedious life would become. Mortality makes everything matter, keeps life interesting. And that’s all I ask. —Abigail Thomas, memoirist

Born to Make Snap Judgments
—and Run with Them

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The brain is all about the action. It wants to know what’s going on with and around us so it can figure out what to do about it. Uncertainty only gets in the way of its imperative to always know and to always have an answer. Thus, the brain could be considered to be allergic to uncertainty and to the very idea of randomness.

Not only is the brain trying to figure out what’s going to happen next, it’s also trying to identify patterns to speed up and (hopefully) improve the process in the future.

In short, as far as the brain is concerned: randomness is bad; patterns are good.

Association

The part of the brain that is focused on what to do next operates via associative thinking rather than logical, linear thinking. Associative thinking (or learning) is based on finding patterns, making connections, and categorizing.  Associative thinking is fast and nonlinear, and we always have access to it.

Associative thinking takes place automatically. We can’t stop our brain from doing it, which is a good thing; if the brain wasn’t able to find patterns, make connections, and categorize things, our chances of survival would be diminished, and it would take us a lot longer to learn anything. Logical, linear thinking, which is used by the conscious part of the brain (System 2), is slow, effortful, and limited.

Since associative thinking puts a premium on speed rather than accuracy, however, it makes mistakes. If errors are not corrected, they can turn into beliefs or habits of thinking, just like habits of behavior, and become part of our mental model. The more frequently we encounter an apparent pattern or connection, the likelier we are to believe it is true and accurate. That’s also the case with classification and categorization.

Snap to It

Stereotype: fixed and oversimplified image or idea of a particular type of person or thing. (Oxford Dictionary)

We are born to judge others by how they look: our brains come hardwired with a specific face-processing area, and even shortly after birth, babies would rather look at a human face than anything else. Within their first year, they become more discerning, and are more likely to crawl towards friendly looking faces than those who look a bit shifty. By the time we reach adulthood, we are snap-judgement specialists, jumping to conclusions about a person’s character and status after seeing their face for just a tenth of a second. And we shun considered assessments of others in favour of simple shortcuts—for example, we judge a baby-faced individual as more trustworthy, and associate a chiselled jaw with dominance. —Kate Douglas, New Scientist

Other research indicates that these conclusions we begin jumping to in infancy can develop into stereotypes that then influence future interpretations as well as behavior. It’s highly likely that the brain generates all kinds of stereotypes as mental shortcuts to identify things, people, situations, etc.

Categorization

Categorization: the act of sorting and organizing things according to group, class, or, as you might expect, category. (vocabulary.com)

Categorizing is an automatic System 1 (unconscious) process. That means it’s easy; eventually tracks laid down in the brain carry us along effortlessly. We rarely question our perceptions because confirmation bias makes them feel right. While it is relatively easy—and requires no conscious attention—to lay down these tracks, the same cannot be said for changing them.

Recognizing the differences between things (distinguishing), on the other hand, is a System 2 (conscious) process that requires intention, attention, and effort. Those, in turn, require logical, linear thinking. Making distinctions can be difficult and often generates cognitive dissonance, which is uncomfortable.

Pattern Detection

Pattern recognition/detection: the imposition of identity on input data, such as speech, images, or a stream of text, by the recognition and delineation of patterns it contains and their relationships. (Brittanica, pattern recognition in computer science)

Patternicity: the tendency to find meaningful patterns in meaningless noise. (Michael Shermer)

We use our brain’s pattern-detection processes all the time: when driving a motor vehicle, listening to music, observing someone’s behavior, following a story, running experiments, playing games or sports, etc. The brain’s attempts to identify a pattern or determine if a pattern is present generate activity in the ventromedial prefrontal cortex, which is part of the reward system. That means pattern-detection is reinforced by the brain.

It’s not a stretch to imagine that most if not all of perception is a result of pattern-detection. And given that pattern-detection operates unconsciously, in the part of the brain that values speed over accuracy, it’s also not a stretch to recognize how likely it is to be fallible.

According to Jamie Hale, in PsychCentral:

Our pattern-detecting ability serves us well in many instances, but it also can lead to seeing something when there is nothing there. In the words of Rudolf Flesch:

“Instead of the black and-white, single-track, everyone-knows-that-this-is-due-to-that approach, get used to the idea that this is a world of multiple causes, imperfect correlations, and sheer, unpredictable chance. It is true that the scientists, with their statistics and their probabilities, have made a stab at the harnessing of chance. But they know very well that certainty is unattainable. A high degree of probability is the best we can ever get.”

The brain lulls us into believing that we have a good grasp of what’s happening, that certainty is attainable, and that our snap judgments are accurate perceptions of reality. However, things are not as they seem.

Decoding Emotions

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There are two distinct perspectives on the nature of emotions. One view is that they are universal—and universally recognizable—responses that are automatically triggered by events and circumstances. The other view is that they are constructed by each of us moment-to-moment, based on our particular combination of physiology, temperament, and experience.

Charles Darwin’s The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals, published in 1872, wasn’t the first book to attempt to codify facial expressions, but it still serves as inspiration for what has been referred to by Lisa Feldman Barrett as the classical view of emotion.

[H]e claimed that emotions and their expressions were an ancient part of universal human nature. All people, everywhere in the world are said to exhibit and recognize facial expressions of emotions without any training whatsoever.

This idea was further advanced in the 1960s and 70s, by psychologist Paul Ekman and others, and remains a widely held view. It’s why many people believe there are six basic emotions—fear, anger, joy, sadness, disgust, and surprise—that are recognized by people across the globe. And it’s why the use of psychological tests for recognizing emotions from facial photographs is still quite common.

Furthermore the ability to identify emotions from facial expressions is a standard test of empathy, with implications in diagnosing various mental health conditions. So it’s relatively safe to say that a belief in empathy is based in the classical view of emotions.

But as Feldman Barrett points out:

Hundreds of experiments have shown that people worldwide can match emotion words to so-called expressions of emotion, posed by actors who aren’t actually feeling those emotions. However, those expressions can’t be consistently and specifically detected by objective measures of facial muscle movements when people are actually feeling emotion.

So if most (if not all) of the people who have been photographed for emotion detection tests are…emoting (i.e., acting), what do these tests actually reveal? At best, they appear to reveal some consensus agreement as to what those facial expressions are supposed to represent—stereotypes of emotions, if you will.

A Little Context, Please

Even if the photographs were not posed, focusing exclusively on faces excludes all the relevant contextual detail that the brain uses to form impressions and make interpretations.

Other things, including body movement, personality, tone of voice and changes in skin tone have important roles in how we perceive and display emotion. —Douglas Heaven, Nature, 2/26/20

Surrounding environmental context is even more critical. In a PNAS paper published on 3/21/19, Aleix Martinez offers the following images to support the importance of contextual information.

When asked to identify the emotions shown in these images, most people agree that the left image expresses sadness, while the right image is a clear display of anger. If asked whether these expressions communicate positive or negative valence, most people agree that both correspond to a negative expression. The problem with these assessments is that context is not observable, which may lead to incorrect interpretations. Images courtesy of (Left) Imgflip and (Right) Getty Images/Michael Steele.

Adding context to the facial expressions previously seen in [the previous figure] radically changes our interpretation of the emotion being experienced by a person. (A and B) In these two images, most observers agree that the people shown are experiencing a joyful event (i.e., positive valence). (C and D) When the face and body are blurred out, inference of valence and arousal is still possible. Images courtesy of (Upper Left, Lower Left, and Lower Right) Imgflip and (Upper Right) Getty Images/Michael Steele.

Martinez concludes that:

[w]e still do not know which brain regions of interest (ROIs) are involved in the recognition of affective context and how these communicate with already known areas. ROIs for the recognition of facial muscle articulations and biological motion as well as affective variables have been identified. It is logical to assume that ROIs involved in visual analysis of scenes, objects, and bodies are part of the visual interpretation of context. But does the brain employ other mechanisms to perform this inference? And, how do all these ROIs interact with one another to create the conscious affective percept we all experience?

How Many Words Is a Picture Worth?

Contextual information can not only lead to more accurate interpretations, it can also turn the tables on emotion recognition altogether. In writing about rethinking emotional intelligence a few years ago, I included this excerpt from The Storytelling Animal by Jonathan Gottschall:

In the early twentieth century, the Russian filmmaker Lev Kuleshov produced a film of unnarrated images: a corpse in a coffin, a lovely young woman, and a bowl of soup. In between these images, Kuleshov squeezed shots of an actor’s face. The audience noted that when the soup was shown, the actor emoted hunger. When the corpse was shown, he looked sad. When the lovely young woman appeared, the actor’s face was transformed by lust.

In fact the actor wasn’t emoting at all. After every shot, Kuleshov had inserted exactly the same footage of an actor staring impassively into the camera.

We often see what we expect to see rather than what’s actually there. Expectations play an enormous role in the interpretations made by the brain. So does our experience, as well as the language we speak and the range of our emotional vocabulary.

This applies to the interpretation of our own emotions as well as the emotions of others. When it comes to interpreting our own emotions, we don’t usually go about it by looking at ourselves in a mirror. We’re more likely to focus on internal cues first. But no matter how strong those cues are, they do require interpretation. For example, excitement and anxiety are what are called high-arousal states that have similar neurological and physiological symptoms, such as increased heart-rate, restlessness, rapid breathing, difficulty concentrating, and nervousness or tension. So context (the circumstances surrounding a particular high-arousal state) plays a role in our process of interpretation. Nevertheless, some of us are more inclined in general to interpret this set of sensations as anxiety and some of us are more inclined to interpret it as excitement.

Our personal interpretive tendencies are very likely to influence our interpretations of the emotions others are experiencing. Given what we understand about how the brain works, it’s hard to imagine how they wouldn’t.

Take Away

The idea that emotions are constitutive (constructed) has gained more and more ground as neuroscience research expands our understanding of how we function. There are so many things we take for granted, or at face value, without questioning them. The idea that there are six basic emotions that are universally recognized is an intuitive get. But there was actually substantial disagreement with the classical view of emotion prior to the 1960s; it just got swept under the rug. It wasn’t the first scientific concept that got swept aside and won’t be the last.

Emotions are real just as a sense of self is real, but neither an emotion nor a sense of self is a thing. Instead both are processes, continually in flux, a result of our interpretation—and open to our interpretation.

Empathy: What Is It Good For?

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I wish I could have a discussion about empathy with a particular friend who, unfortunately, is no longer here. She was a caring person, generous with time, money, and attention. She was a good friend to me. She likely considered herself to be empathetic, although I don’t recall her making such a claim.

But there were some attitudes she espoused and actions she took that I was perplexed and a little bit horrified by. For example, I remember her telling me she’d gone out of her way to congratulate a woman paying for groceries in a supermarket with the equivalent of food stamps on her good (nutritious?) food choices. My reaction was along the lines of You did what? I could write an entire article on the assumptions underlying that interaction.

And when there was much talk about airport security following the events of 911, she and I discussed the problems posed for people with metal implants going through scanners. Her opinion at the time was that this group of people ought to give up air travel for the sake of making it easier on the rest of us. I (let us say) disagreed. We also strongly disagreed on the subject of undocumented immigrants. However, she later changed her stance on that one.

We were of the same political persuasion, so that wasn’t the basis for our sometimes strong differences of opinion. Those differences never really got in our way, anyway. I enjoy a good argument, and once she figured that out, she was willing to engage.

On the other end of the spectrum, this friend (most definitely a cat person) dropped everything to come to the aid of a neighbor who needed daily assistance with her dog for at least a month after surgery relegated her to a wheelchair. And she seriously considered moving to another state to help out a niece who hadn’t even made a request.

Empathy vs. Compassion

In my ongoing research into the subject of empathy, I’ve encountered numerous takes on what it’s supposed to be, as well as what it’s supposed to be good for. Consistent with my previous research on what it’s supposed to be, there’s no consensus on what it’s supposed to be good for. While many people still claim that empathy is necessary and useful all around, others report that it actually only comes into play in regard to the closest members of our in-group—people we already know and care about and presumably understand to some extent.

Psychologist Paul Bloom wrote a book titled Against Empathy, in which he cites research supporting the idea that empathy doesn’t lead to prosocial action—that people substitute feeling (or thinking they’re feeling) someone else’s pain or distress for doing something to alleviate it. Compassion, on the other hand, which doesn’t necessarily involve relating to other people empathically—which in fact involves having some emotional distance—does lead to prosocial action.

By empathy I mean feeling the feelings of other people. So if you’re in pain and I feel your pain—I am feeling empathy toward you. If you’re being anxious, I pick up your anxiety. If you’re sad and I pick up your sadness, I’m being empathetic. And that’s different from compassion. Compassion means I give your concern weight, I value it. I care about you, but I don’t necessarily pick up your feelings.

A lot of people think this is merely a verbal distinction, that it doesn’t matter that much. But actually there’s a lot of evidence in my book that empathy and compassion activate different parts of the brain. But more importantly, they have different consequences. If I have empathy toward you, it will be painful if you’re suffering. It will be exhausting. It will lead me to avoid you and avoid helping. But if I feel compassion for you, I’ll be invigorated. I’ll be happy and I’ll try to make your life better. —Paul Bloom

Can You Relate?

My friend was financially comfortably well off (not on food stamps), did not have any metal implants, and was born and raised in the U.S. The three examples I gave all involved a reaction to others, people who were not members of her, or my, in-group. I would say she didn’t or couldn’t relate to them. And I think the concept of relating is separate from the concept of empathy. For example, I relate to people who share major personality traits with me. I “get” them in a way that’s both easy and deep. No imagination is required. No effort. No attempt to understand.

When another friend whose son I have spent very little time with during his 20 years on the planet (but who is quite a lot like me) tells me of her interactions with him or his responses and reactions, I can sometimes physically feel what he might be feeling: the feelings that make his resulting response entirely logical. That’s not empathy. If empathy were good for something, it would be assisting us in “getting” people we don’t automatically relate to or resonate with—people in our out-groups—and then lead us to take compassionate action in response. But as much as so many people wish it did do that, it doesn’t and ultimately can’t.

Empathy appears to be an outdated folk belief we really ought to retire.

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