Chapter 14. Attention and Consciousness
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By ANNA WEXLER EARLIER this month, in the journal Annals of Neurology, four neuroscientists published an open letter to practitioners of do-it-yourself brain stimulation. These are people who stimulate their own brains with low levels of electricity, largely for purposes like improved memory or learning ability. The letter, which was signed by 39 other researchers, outlined what is known and unknown about the safety of such noninvasive brain stimulation, and asked users to give careful consideration to the risks. For the last three years, I have been studying D.I.Y. brain stimulators. Their conflict with neuroscientists offers a fascinating case study of what happens when experimental tools normally kept behind the closed doors of academia — in this case, transcranial direct current stimulation — are appropriated for use outside them. Neuroscientists began experimenting in earnest with transcranial direct current stimulation about 15 years ago. In such stimulation, electric current is administered at levels that are hundreds of times less than those used in electroconvulsive therapy. To date, more than 1,000 peer-reviewed studies of the technique have been published. Studies have suggested, among other things, that the stimulation may be beneficial for treating problems like depression and chronic pain as well as enhancing cognition and learning in healthy individuals. The device scientists use for stimulation is essentially a nine-volt battery attached to two wires that are connected to electrodes placed at various spots on the head. A crude version can be constructed with just a bit of electrical know-how. Consequently, as reports of the effects of the technique began to appear in scientific journals and in newspapers, people began to build their own devices at home. By late 2011 and early 2012, diagrams, schematics and videos began to appear online. © 2016 The New York Times Company
Link ID: 22471 - Posted: 07.23.2016
Rachel Ehrenberg The brain doesn’t really go out like a light when anesthesia kicks in. Nor does neural activity gradually dim, a new study in monkeys reveals. Rather, intermittent flickers of brain activity appear as the effects of an anesthetic take hold. Some synchronized networks of brain activity fall out of step as the monkeys gradually drift from wakefulness, the study showed. But those networks resynchronized when deep unconsciousness set in, researchers reported in the July 20 Journal of Neuroscience. That the two networks behave so differently during the drifting-off stage is surprising, says study coauthor Yumiko Ishizawa of Harvard Medical School and Massachusetts General Hospital. It isn’t clear what exactly is going on, she says, except that the anesthetic’s effects are a lot more complex than previously thought. Most studies examining the how anesthesia works useelectroencephalograms, or EEGs, which record brain activity using electrodes on the scalp. The new study offers unprecedented surveillance by eavesdropping via electrodes implanted inside macaque monkeys’ brains. This new view provides clues to how the brain loses and gains consciousness. “It’s a very detailed description of something we know very little about,” says cognitive neuroscientist Tristan Bekinschtein of the University of Cambridge, who was not involved with the work. Although the study is elegant, it isn’t clear what to make of the findings, he says. “These are early days.” |© Society for Science & the Public 2000 - 2016.
Link ID: 22457 - Posted: 07.20.2016
James M. Broadway “Where did the time go?” middle-aged and older adults often remark. Many of us feel that time passes more quickly as we age, a perception that can lead to regrets. According to psychologist and BBC columnist Claudia Hammond, “the sensation that time speeds up as you get older is one of the biggest mysteries of the experience of time.” Fortunately, our attempts to unravel this mystery have yielded some intriguing findings. In 2005, for instance, psychologists Marc Wittmann and Sandra Lenhoff, both then at Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich, surveyed 499 participants, ranging in age from 14 to 94 years, about the pace at which they felt time moving—from “very slowly” to “very fast.” For shorter durations—a week, a month, even a year—the subjects' perception of time did not appear to increase with age. Most participants felt that the clock ticked by quickly. But for longer durations, such as a decade, a pattern emerged: older people tended to perceive time as moving faster. When asked to reflect on their lives, the participants older than 40 felt that time elapsed slowly in their childhood but then accelerated steadily through their teenage years into early adulthood. There are good reasons why older people may feel that way. When it comes to how we perceive time, humans can estimate the length of an event from two very different perspectives: a prospective vantage, while an event is still occurring, or a retrospective one, after it has ended. In addition, our experience of time varies with whatever we are doing and how we feel about it. In fact, time does fly when we are having fun. Engaging in a novel exploit makes time appear to pass more quickly in the moment. But if we remember that activity later on, it will seem to have lasted longer than more mundane experiences. © 2016 Scientific American,
Michael Egnor The most intractable question in modern neuroscience and philosophy of the mind is often phrased "What is consciousness?" The problem has been summed up nicely by philosopher David Chalmers as what he calls the Hard Problem of consciousness: How is it that we are subjects, and not just objects? Chalmers contrasts this hard question with what he calls the Easy Problem of consciousness: What are the neurobiological substrates underlying such things as wakefulness, alertness, attention, arousal, etc. Chalmers doesn't mean of course that the neurobiology of arousal is easy. He merely means to show that even if we can understand arousal from a neurobiological standpoint, we haven't yet solved the hard problem: the problem of subjective experience. Why am I an I, and not an it? Chalmers's point is a good one, and I think that it has a rather straightforward solution. First, some historical background is necessary. "What is consciousness?" is a modern question. It wasn't asked before the 17th century, because no one before Descartes thought that the mind was particularly mysterious. The problem of consciousness was created by moderns. The scholastic philosophers, following Aristotle and Aquinas, understood the soul as the animating principle of the body. In a human being, the powers of the soul -- intellect, will, memory, perception, appetite, and such -- were no more mysterious than the other powers of the soul, such as respiration, circulation, etc. Of course, biology in the Middle Ages wasn't as advanced as it is today, so there was much they didn't understand about human physiology, but in principle the mind was just another aspect of human biology, not inherently mysterious. In modern parlance, the scholastics saw the mind as the Easy Problem, no more intractable than understanding how breathing or circulation work.
Link ID: 22441 - Posted: 07.15.2016
Jon Hamilton Letting mice watch Orson Welles movies may help scientists explain human consciousness. At least that's one premise of the Allen Brain Observatory, which launched Wednesday and lets anyone with an Internet connection study a mouse brain as it responds to visual information. "Think of it as a telescope, but a telescope that is looking at the brain," says Christof Koch, chief scientific officer of the Allen Institute for Brain Science, which created the observatory. The hope is that thousands of scientists and would-be scientists will look through that telescope and help solve one of the great mysteries of human consciousness, Koch says. "You look out at the world and there's a picture in your head," he says. "You see faces, you see your wife, you see something on TV." But how does the brain create those images from the chaotic stream of visual information it receives? "That's the mystery," Koch says. There's no easy way to study a person's brain as it makes sense of visual information. So the observatory has been gathering huge amounts of data on mice, which have a visual system that is very similar to the one found in people. The data come from mice that run on a wheel as still images and movies appear on a screen in front of them. For the mice, it's a lot like watching TV on a treadmill at the gym. But these mice have been genetically altered in a way that allows a computer to monitor the activity of about 18,000 neurons as they respond to different images. "We can look at those neurons and from that decode literally what goes through the mind of the mouse," Koch says. Those neurons were pretty active when the mice watched the first few minutes of Orson Welles' film noir classic Touch of Evil. The film is good for mouse experiments because "It's black and white and it has nice contrasts and it has a long shot without having many interruptions," Koch says. © 2016 npr
Not much is definitively proven about consciousness, the awareness of one’s existence and surroundings, other than that it’s somehow linked to the brain. But theories as to how, exactly, grey matter generates consciousness are challenged when a fully-conscious man is found to be missing most of his brain. Several years ago, a 44-year-old Frenchman went to the hospital complaining of mild weakness in his left leg. It was discovered then that his skull was filled largely by fluid, leaving just a thin perimeter of actual brain tissue. And yet the man was a married father of two and a civil servant with an IQ of 75, below-average in his intelligence but not mentally disabled. Doctors believe the man’s brain slowly eroded over 30 years due to a build up of fluid in the brain’s ventricles, a condition known as “hydrocephalus.” His hydrocephalus was treated with a shunt, which drains the fluid into the bloodstream, when he was an infant. But it was removed when he was 14 years old. Over the following decades, the fluid accumulated, leaving less and less space for his brain. While this may seem medically miraculous, it also poses a major challenge for cognitive psychologists, says Axel Cleeremans of the Université Libre de Bruxelles.
By SUNITA SAH A POPULAR remedy for a conflict of interest is disclosure — informing the buyer (or the patient, etc.) of the potential bias of the seller (or the doctor, etc.). Disclosure is supposed to act as a warning, alerting consumers to their adviser’s stake in the matter so they can process the advice accordingly. But as several recent studies I conducted show, there is an underappreciated problem with disclosure: It often has the opposite of its intended effect, not only increasing bias in advisers but also making advisees more likely to follow biased advice. When I worked as a physician, I witnessed how bias could arise from numerous sources: gifts or sponsorships from the pharmaceutical industry; compensation for performing particular procedures; viewing our own specialties as delivering more effective treatments than others’ specialties. Although most physicians, myself included, tend to believe that we are invulnerable to bias, thus making disclosures unnecessary, regulators insist on them, assuming that they work effectively. To some extent, they do work. Disclosing a conflict of interest — for example, a financial adviser’s commission or a physician’s referral fee for enrolling patients into clinical trials — often reduces trust in the advice. But my research has found that people are still more likely to follow this advice because the disclosure creates increased pressure to follow the adviser’s recommendation. It turns out that people don’t want to signal distrust to their adviser or insinuate that the adviser is biased, and they also feel pressure to help satisfy their adviser’s self-interest. Instead of functioning as a warning, disclosure can become a burden on advisees, increasing pressure to take advice they now trust less. © 2016 The New York Times Company
Link ID: 22416 - Posted: 07.09.2016
By Emily Rosenzweig Life deals most of us a consistent stream of ego blows, be they failures at work, social slights, or unrequited love. Social psychology has provided decades of insight into just how adept we are at defending ourselves against these psychic threats. We discount negative feedback, compare ourselves favorably to those who are worse off than us, attribute our failures to others, place undue value on our own strengths, and devalue opportunities denied to us–all in service of protecting and restoring our sense of self-worth. As a group, this array of motivated mental processes that support mood repair and ego defense has been called the “psychological immune system.” Particularly striking to social psychologists is our ability to remain blind to our use of these motivated strategies, even when it is apparent to others just how biased we are. However there are times when we either cannot remain blind to our own psychological immune processes, or where we may find ourselves consciously wanting to use them expressly for the purpose of restoring our ego or our mood. What then? Can we believe a conclusion we reach even when we know that we arrived at it in a biased way? For example, imagine you’ve recently gone through a breakup and want to get over your ex. You decide to make a mental list of all of their character flaws in an effort to feel better about the relationship ending. A number of prominent social psychologists have suggested you’re out of luck—knowing that you’re focusing only on your ex’s worst qualities prevents you from believing the conclusion you’ve come to that you’re better off without him or her. In essence, they argue that we must remain blind to our own biased mental processes in order to reap their ego-restoring benefits. And in many ways this closely echoes the position that philosophers like Mele have taken about the possibility of agentic self-deception. © 2016 Scientific American
George Johnson A paper in The British Medical Journal in December reported that cognitive behavioral therapy — a means of coaxing people into changing the way they think — is as effective as Prozac or Zoloft in treating major depression. In ways no one understands, talk therapy reaches down into the biological plumbing and affects the flow of neurotransmitters in the brain. Other studies have found similar results for “mindfulness” — Buddhist-inspired meditation in which one’s thoughts are allowed to drift gently through the head like clouds reflected in still mountain water. Findings like these have become so commonplace that it’s easy to forget their strange implications. Depression can be treated in two radically different ways: by altering the brain with chemicals, or by altering the mind by talking to a therapist. But we still can’t explain how mind arises from matter or how, in turn, mind acts on the brain. This longstanding conundrum — the mind-body problem — was succinctly described by the philosopher David Chalmers at a recent symposium at The New York Academy of Sciences. “The scientific and philosophical consensus is that there is no nonphysical soul or ego, or at least no evidence for that,” he said. Descartes’s notion of dualism — mind and body as separate things — has long receded from science. The challenge now is to explain how the inner world of consciousness arises from the flesh of the brain. © 2016 The New York Times Company
Link ID: 22397 - Posted: 07.05.2016
Mo Costandi There’s much more to visual perception than meets the eye. What we see is not merely a matter of patterns of light falling on the retina, but rather is heavily influenced by so-called ‘top-down’ brain mechanisms, which can alter the visual information, and other types of sensory information, that enters the brain before it even reaches our conscious awareness. A striking example of this is a phenomenon called inattentional blindness, whereby narrowly focusing one’s attention on one visual stimulus makes us oblivious to other stimuli, even though they otherwise may be glaringly obvious, as demonstrated by the infamous ‘Invisible Gorilla’ study. Now researchers say they have discovered another extreme form of blindness, in which people fail to notice an unexpected image, even when shown by itself and staring them in the face. Marjan Persuh and Robert Melara of the City University of New York designed two experiments to investigate whether people’s prior expectations could block their awareness of meaningful and important visual stimuli. In the first, they recruited 20 student volunteers and asked them to perform a visual discrimination task. They were shown a series of images, consisting of successive pairs of faces, each of which were presented for half a second on a computer screen, and asked to indicate whether each pair showed faces of people of the same or different sex. Towards the end of each session, the participants were presented with a simple shape, which flashed onto the screen for one tenth of a second. They were then asked if they had seen anything new and, after replying, were told that a shape had indeed appeared, and asked to select the correct one from a display of four. This shape recognition task was then repeated in one final control trial. © 2016 Guardian News and Media Limited
Link ID: 22394 - Posted: 07.04.2016
By Clare Wilson People who meditate are more aware of their unconscious brain activity – or so a new take on a classic “free will” experiment suggests. The results hint that the feeling of conscious control over our actions can vary – and provide more clues to understanding the complex nature of free will. The famous experiment that challenged our notions of free will was first done in 1983 by neuroscientist Benjamin Libet. It involved measuring electrical activity in someone’s brain while asking them to press a button, whenever they like, while they watch a special clock that allows them to note the time precisely. Typically people feel like they decide to press the button about 200 milliseconds before their finger moves – but the electrodes reveal activity in the part of their brain that controls movement occurs a further 350 milliseconds before they feel they make that decision. This suggests that in fact it is the unconscious brain that “decides” when to press the button. In the new study, a team at the University of Sussex in Brighton, UK, did a slimmed-down version of the experiment (omitting the brain electrodes), with 57 volunteers, 11 of whom regularly practised mindfulness mediation. The meditators had a longer gap in time between when they felt like they decided to move their finger and when it physically moved – 149 compared with 68 milliseconds for the other people. © Copyright Reed Business Information Ltd.
Link ID: 22369 - Posted: 06.28.2016
By MOSHE BAR A FRIEND of mine has a bad habit of narrating his experiences as they are taking place. I tease him for being a bystander in his own life. To be fair, we all fail to experience life to the fullest. Typically, our minds are too occupied with thoughts to allow complete immersion even in what is right in front of us. Sometimes, this is O.K. I am happy not to remember passing a long stretch of my daily commute because my mind has wandered and my morning drive can be done on autopilot. But I do not want to disappear from too much of life. Too often we eat meals without tasting them, look at something beautiful without seeing it. An entire exchange with my daughter (please forgive me) can take place without my being there at all. Recently, I discovered how much we overlook, not just about the world, but also about the full potential of our inner life, when our mind is cluttered. In a study published in this month’s Psychological Science, the graduate student Shira Baror and I demonstrate that the capacity for original and creative thinking is markedly stymied by stray thoughts, obsessive ruminations and other forms of “mental load.” Many psychologists assume that the mind, left to its own devices, is inclined to follow a well-worn path of familiar associations. But our findings suggest that innovative thinking, not routine ideation, is our default cognitive mode when our minds are clear. In a series of experiments, we gave participants a free-association task while simultaneously taxing their mental capacity to different degrees. In one experiment, for example, we asked half the participants to keep in mind a string of seven digits, and the other half to remember just two digits. While the participants maintained these strings in working memory, they were given a word (e.g., shoe) and asked to respond as quickly as possible with the first word that came to mind (e.g., sock). © 2016 The New York Times Company
Link ID: 22360 - Posted: 06.25.2016
By Nancy Szokan Let’s begin by defining something psychologists call “ego depletion.” This is the idea that all of us have only a certain amount of self-control, and if we use up too much in one part of our lives, we will have less to use in others. An early example came from a 1998 study in which participants were tempted with a chocolate treat before being given a difficult puzzle: Those who resisted the temptation seemed to have used up some of their willpower, because they gave up on the puzzle faster than the treat eaters. There have been many subsequent studies about ego depletion, including its apparent effects on physical performance: In 2012, athletes who were given a difficult mental task before a physical challenge exhibited less determination to do well on the sports test than those who hadn’t done the puzzle. But recently a replication study (in which researchers repeat a published experiment to see if they come up with the same results) tested more than 2,000 participants at 24 labs and found the ego depletion effect to be very small or nonexistent. I Which, as Lea Winerman reports, has led such psychologists as Michael Inzlicht of the University of Toronto to a crisis of confidence. Maybe, he thinks, ego depletion and the other social psychological effects he has made a career of studying are “proven” by unreliable research. “I used to think there were errors, but that the errors were minor and it was fine,” Winerman quotes Inzlicht as saying in the June issue of Monitor on Psychology, a publication of the American Psychological Association. “But as I started surveying the field, I started thinking we’ve been making some major mistakes.”
Link ID: 22337 - Posted: 06.20.2016
By Tanya Lewis The human brain may wind down when asleep, but it doesn’t lose all responsiveness. Researchers from the École Normale Supérieure in Paris and their colleagues recently used electroencephalography (EEG) to monitor the brains of volunteers listening to recordings of spoken words, which they were asked to classify as either objects or animals. Participants were able to classify words during light non-REM (NREM) sleep, but not during either deep NREM sleep or REM sleep, according to a study published today (June 14) in The Journal of Neuroscience. “With an elegant experimental design and sophisticated analyses of neural activity, [the authors] demonstrate the extent to which the sleeping brain is able to process sensory information, depending on sleep depth [or] stage,” Thomas Schreiner of the University of Fribourg in Switzerland, who was not involved in the study, wrote in an email to The Scientist. During sleep, the brain is thought to block out external stimuli through a gating mechanism at the level of the thalamus. But experiments dating back to the 1960s have shown that certain types of stimuli, such as hearing one’s name, can filter through and trigger awakening. However, the mechanisms that allow the brain to selectively take in information during sleep remain unknown. “When we fall asleep, it’s pretty similar to a coma because we lose consciousness of our self and of the [outside] world,” study coauthor Thomas Andrillon, a neuroscientist at the École Normale Supérieure, told The Scientist. The question was “whether the brain could still monitor what was going on around, just to be sure the environment was still safe,” he added. © 1986-2016 The Scientist
Alva Noë Sometimes the mind wanders. Thoughts pop into consciousness. Ideas or images are present when just a moment before they were not. Scientists recently have been turning their attention to making sense of this. One natural picture of the phenomenon goes something like this. Typically, our thoughts and feelings are shaped by what we are doing, by what there is around us. The world captures our attention and compels our minds this way or that. What explains the fact that you think of a red car when there is a red car in front of you is, well, the red car. And similarly, it is that loud noise that causes you to orient yourself to the commotion that is producing it. In such cases, we might say, the mind is coupled to the world around it and the world, in a way, plays us the way a person might play a piano. But sometimes, even without going to sleep, we turn away from the world. We turn inward. We are contemplative or detached. We decouple ourselves from the environment and we are set free, as it were, to let our minds play themselves. This natural picture has gained some support from the discovery of the so-called Default Mode Network. The DMN is a network of neural systems whose activation seems to be suppressed by active engagement with the world around us; DMN, in contrast, is activated (or rather, it tends to return to baseline levels of activity) precisely when we detach ourselves from what's going on around us. The DMN is the brain running in neutral. One of the leading hypotheses to explain mind-wandering and the emergence of spontaneous thoughts is that this is the result of the operation of the brain's Default Mode Network. (See this for a review of this literature.) © 2016 npr
Link ID: 22331 - Posted: 06.18.2016
By Devi Shastri Calling someone a “bird brain” might not be the zinger of an insult you thought it was: A new study shows that—by the total number of forebrain neurons—some birds are much brainier than we thought. The study, published online today in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, found that 28 bird species have more neurons in their pallial telencephalons, the brain region responsible for higher level learning, than mammals with similar-sized brains. Parrots and songbirds in particular packed in the neurons, with parrots (like the gray parrot, above) ranging from 227 million to 3.14 billion, and songbirds—including the notoriously intelligent crow—from 136 million to 2.17 billion. That’s about twice as many neurons as primates with brains of the same mass and four times as many as rodent brains of the same mass. To come up with their count, the researchers dissected the bird brains and then dissolved them in a detergent solution, ensuring that the cells were suspended in what neuroscientist Suzana Herculano-Houzel of Vanderbilt University in Nashville calls “brain soup.” This allowed them to label, count, and estimate how many neurons were in a particular brain region. The region that they focused on allows some birds to hone skills like tool use, planning for the future, learning birdsong, and mimicking human speech. One surprising finding was that the neurons were much smaller than expected, with shorter and more compact connections between cells. The team’s next step is to examine whether these neurons started out small or instead shrank in order to keep the birds light enough for flights. One thing, at least, is clear: It’s time to find a new insult for your less brainy friends. © 2016 American Association for the Advancement of Science
Michael Graziano Ever since Charles Darwin published On the Origin of Species in 1859, evolution has been the grand unifying theory of biology. Yet one of our most important biological traits, consciousness, is rarely studied in the context of evolution. Theories of consciousness come from religion, from philosophy, from cognitive science, but not so much from evolutionary biology. Maybe that’s why so few theories have been able to tackle basic questions such as: What is the adaptive value of consciousness? When did it evolve and what animals have it? The Attention Schema Theory (AST), developed over the past five years, may be able to answer those questions. The theory suggests that consciousness arises as a solution to one of the most fundamental problems facing any nervous system: Too much information constantly flows in to be fully processed. The brain evolved increasingly sophisticated mechanisms for deeply processing a few select signals at the expense of others, and in the AST, consciousness is the ultimate result of that evolutionary sequence. If the theory is right—and that has yet to be determined—then consciousness evolved gradually over the past half billion years and is present in a range of vertebrate species. Even before the evolution of a central brain, nervous systems took advantage of a simple computing trick: competition. Neurons act like candidates in an election, each one shouting and trying to suppress its fellows. At any moment only a few neurons win that intense competition, their signals rising up above the noise and impacting the animal’s behavior. This process is called selective signal enhancement, and without it, a nervous system can do almost nothing. © 2016 by The Atlantic Monthly Group
By Rachel Feltman Archerfish are already stars of the animal kingdom for their stunning spit-takes. They shoot high-powered water jets from their mouths to stun prey, making them one of just a few fish species known to use tools. But by training Toxotes chatareus to direct those jets of spit at certain individuals, scientists have shown that the little guys have another impressive skill: They seem to be able to distinguish one human face from another, something never before witnessed in fish and spotted just a few times in non-human animals. The results, published Tuesday in the Nature journal Scientific Reports, could help us understand how humans got so good at telling each other apart. Or how most people got to be good at that, anyway. I'm terrible at it. It's generally accepted that the fusiform gyrus, a brain structure located in the neocortex, allows humans to tell one another apart with a speed and accuracy that other species can't manage. But there's some debate over whether human faces are so innately complex — and that distinguishing them is more difficult than other tricks of memory or pattern recognition — that this region of the brain is a necessary facilitator of the skill that evolved especially for it. Birds, which have been shown to distinguish humans from one another, have the same structure. But some researchers still think that facial recognition might be something that humans learn — it's not an innate skill — and that the fusiform gyrus is just the spot where we happen to process all the necessary information.
By Clare Wilson We’ve all been there: after a tough mental slog your brain feels as knackered as your body does after a hard workout. Now we may have pinpointed one of the brain regions worn out by a mentally taxing day – and it seems to also affect our willpower, so perhaps we should avoid making important decisions when mentally fatigued. Several previous studies have suggested that our willpower is a finite resource, and if it gets depleted in one way – like finishing a difficult task – we find it harder to make other good choices, like resisting a slice of cake. In a small trial, Bastien Blain at INSERM in Paris and his colleagues asked volunteers to spend six hours doing tricky memory tasks, while periodically choosing either a small sum of cash now, or a larger amount after a delay. .. As the day progressed, people became more likely to act on impulse and to pick an immediate reward. This didn’t happen in the groups that spent time doing easier memory tasks, reading or gaming. For those engaged in difficult work, fMRI brain scans showed a decrease in activity in the middle frontal gyrus, a brain area involved in decision-making. “That suggests this region is becoming less excitable, which could be impairing people’s ability to resist temptation,” says Blain. It’s involved in decisions like ‘Shall I have a beer with my friends tonight, or shall I save money to buy a bike next month,’ he says. Previous research has shown that children with more willpower in a similar type of choice test involving marshmallows end up as more successful adults, by some measures. “Better impulse control predicts your eventual wealth and health,” says Blain. The idea that willpower can be depleted is contentious as some researchers have failed to replicate others’ findings. © Copyright Reed Business Information Ltd.
By Hanoch Ben-Yami Adam Bear opens his article, What Neuroscience Says about Free Will by mentioning a few cases such as pressing snooze on the alarm clock or picking a shirt out of the closet. He continues with an assertion about these cases, and with a question: In each case, we conceive of ourselves as free agents, consciously guiding our bodies in purposeful ways. But what does science have to say about the true source of this experience? This is a bad start. To be aware of ourselves as free agents is not to have an experience. There’s no special tickle which tells you you’re free, no "freedom itch." Rather, to be aware of the fact that you acted freely is, among other things, to know that had you preferred to do something else in those circumstances, you would have done it. And in many circumstances we clearly know that this is the case, so in many circumstances we are aware that we act freely. No experience is involved, and so far there’s no question in Bear’s article for science to answer. Continuing with his alleged experience, Bear writes: …the psychologists Dan Wegner and Thalia Wheatley made a revolutionary proposal: The experience of intentionally willing an action, they suggested, is often nothing more than a post hoc causal inference that our thoughts caused some behavior. More than a revolutionary proposal, this is an additional confusion. What might "intentionally willing an action" mean? Is it to be contrasted with non-intentionally willing an action? But what could this stand for? © 2016 Scientific American
Link ID: 22282 - Posted: 06.04.2016