Blind Spots & Braintrust

This is a review of two recently published books about ethics: Bazerman and Tenbrunsel's Blind Spots (not to be confused with this one), and Patricia Churchland's Braintrust.

The pair may come from the same publisher (Princeton), but they couldn't be more different.


Blind Spots is a good book. It tells a story in a clear and compelling fashion, which is what a book is for.

The story is that we often act unethically, not because we're faced with ethical questions and decide to pick the "bad" option, but because we fail to see that there is an ethical issue at all.

This is not the same as saying that 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions'. That old phrase warns against trying to be good and, as a result, causing evil, because your plans go wrong. Blind Spots is saying, even if all of your attempts to be good work out just fine, you might still cause evil despite that.

For example, you could be a good employee, who never calls in sick unnecessarily, kind to your friends and colleagues, and a generous charity donor.

Unfortunately, you're an accountant connected to Enron, and your work - ultimately - consists of defrauding innocent people. But of course, you don't think of it like that, because we don't tend to think about things "ultimately".

Which is hard to disagree with. At worst, you could say it's obvious, although I think it's still something we ought to be reminded of. That's not all there is to the book, though: it also discusses how this happens and suggests ways to avoid it within organizations.

For example, the authors give an example of how setting up rewards and punishments to "make people be ethical", can make them less so, by encouraging people to think of the issue as a personal trade-off between gain and loss, rather than an ethical dilemma - what the authors call "ethical fading".

A day-care centre was annoyed at the fact that some parents were picking up their children late. This was antisocial because it meant staff had to work late into the evening.

So they started charging parents a late fee. Not a big one, but enough to send people a message: this is wrong, don't do. But in fact what happened was that late pickups became more common.

Previously, many people were making an effort to be on time, as a matter of principle. Once the fees were in place, it stopped being an ethical issue and just became a financial trade-off: is it worth paying the fee to get an extra hour?

Of course, you could make the fees higher to get around this, but even then, you've caused ethical fading, and you'll be relying on the sanctions from that point on.


Braintrust, by contrast, is just not a good read. The bulk of the book consists of discussions of various neurotransmitters and brain areas and how they may be related to human social behaviour. Oxytocin, for example, may make us behave all trusting and kindly, as it's involved in maternal bonding. There's a long discussion of the neurochemistry of male sexual behaviour in voles.

It's not clear how this is relevant to ethics. Whether it's oxytocin that does it, or something else, and whether voles are a useful model of human behaviour or not, clearly sometimes we trust people and sometimes we don't. That's psychology. And biology can't yet explain it.

Churchland doesn't claim that the various biological concepts that she covers can fully explain anything, and she doesn't vouch that all of these findings are rock solid. Which is good, because they can't, and they're not. So why spend well over half of the book talking about them?

Churchland's big idea seems to be that human morality emerges out of our more general capacity for sociability. Hence all the stuff about oxytocin and "the social brain". OK. But I'd have said that's a given - there's obviously some relation between sociability and morality.

I think there is an interesting idea in here, albeit not very clearly expressed, namely that morality isn't a special function of the brain, but just one of the many forms in which our social cognition can take.

In other words, I think the claim is that ethics isn't just related to sociability, it is sociability. Even asocial animals care about their own welfare, in terms of pleasure and pain; social ones become social when they extend this caring to others; intelligent social animals including humans and maybe some primates also have a system for inferring the motivations and thoughts of others.

At the end of the book, Churchland stops reviewing neuroscience, and starts talking about the implications for philosophy. This is best section of the book, but it's too short.

Churchland makes the interesting point, for example, that when we are considering philosophical "ethical dilemmas", like the famous trolley problems, we may not be applying any kind of ethical "rules" as such. Rather, she thinks that our moral reasoning is pretty much a kind of pattern recognition based on previous experience - like all our other social reasoning.

Someone who'd just read a book about the horrors of Stalinism might tend to adopt an anti-consequentialist, every-life-is-sacred approach. Whereas if you'd just watched a movie in which the hero, reluctantly but rightly, decides to sacrifice one guy to save many other people, would do the opposite. Then the ethical "rules" might be confabulated to cover it.

This is a nice idea. It's open to criticism, but it's a serious suggestion, and one that deserves a decent discussion. Sadly, there isn't one. If only there were more room in the book for this kind of stuff - but oxytocin covers so many pages.

Basically, the good parts of this book are not about the brain at all.

Reading Braintrust is like going on date but then bumping into an annoying friend who insists on coming along for dinner. Jesus, The Brain, you want to say. I like you and all, but seriously, you are getting in the way right now.

Links: Other blog reviews.

Blind Spots & Braintrust

This is a review of two recently published books about ethics: Bazerman and Tenbrunsel's Blind Spots (not to be confused with this one), and Patricia Churchland's Braintrust.

The pair may come from the same publisher (Princeton), but they couldn't be more different.


Blind Spots is a good book. It tells a story in a clear and compelling fashion, which is what a book is for.

The story is that we often act unethically, not because we're faced with ethical questions and decide to pick the "bad" option, but because we fail to see that there is an ethical issue at all.

This is not the same as saying that 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions'. That old phrase warns against trying to be good and, as a result, causing evil, because your plans go wrong. Blind Spots is saying, even if all of your attempts to be good work out just fine, you might still cause evil despite that.

For example, you could be a good employee, who never calls in sick unnecessarily, kind to your friends and colleagues, and a generous charity donor.

Unfortunately, you're an accountant connected to Enron, and your work - ultimately - consists of defrauding innocent people. But of course, you don't think of it like that, because we don't tend to think about things "ultimately".

Which is hard to disagree with. At worst, you could say it's obvious, although I think it's still something we ought to be reminded of. That's not all there is to the book, though: it also discusses how this happens and suggests ways to avoid it within organizations.

For example, the authors give an example of how setting up rewards and punishments to "make people be ethical", can make them less so, by encouraging people to think of the issue as a personal trade-off between gain and loss, rather than an ethical dilemma - what the authors call "ethical fading".

A day-care centre was annoyed at the fact that some parents were picking up their children late. This was antisocial because it meant staff had to work late into the evening.

So they started charging parents a late fee. Not a big one, but enough to send people a message: this is wrong, don't do. But in fact what happened was that late pickups became more common.

Previously, many people were making an effort to be on time, as a matter of principle. Once the fees were in place, it stopped being an ethical issue and just became a financial trade-off: is it worth paying the fee to get an extra hour?

Of course, you could make the fees higher to get around this, but even then, you've caused ethical fading, and you'll be relying on the sanctions from that point on.


Braintrust, by contrast, is just not a good read. The bulk of the book consists of discussions of various neurotransmitters and brain areas and how they may be related to human social behaviour. Oxytocin, for example, may make us behave all trusting and kindly, as it's involved in maternal bonding. There's a long discussion of the neurochemistry of male sexual behaviour in voles.

It's not clear how this is relevant to ethics. Whether it's oxytocin that does it, or something else, and whether voles are a useful model of human behaviour or not, clearly sometimes we trust people and sometimes we don't. That's psychology. And biology can't yet explain it.

Churchland doesn't claim that the various biological concepts that she covers can fully explain anything, and she doesn't vouch that all of these findings are rock solid. Which is good, because they can't, and they're not. So why spend well over half of the book talking about them?

Churchland's big idea seems to be that human morality emerges out of our more general capacity for sociability. Hence all the stuff about oxytocin and "the social brain". OK. But I'd have said that's a given - there's obviously some relation between sociability and morality.

I think there is an interesting idea in here, albeit not very clearly expressed, namely that morality isn't a special function of the brain, but just one of the many forms in which our social cognition can take.

In other words, I think the claim is that ethics isn't just related to sociability, it is sociability. Even asocial animals care about their own welfare, in terms of pleasure and pain; social ones become social when they extend this caring to others; intelligent social animals including humans and maybe some primates also have a system for inferring the motivations and thoughts of others.

At the end of the book, Churchland stops reviewing neuroscience, and starts talking about the implications for philosophy. This is best section of the book, but it's too short.

Churchland makes the interesting point, for example, that when we are considering philosophical "ethical dilemmas", like the famous trolley problems, we may not be applying any kind of ethical "rules" as such. Rather, she thinks that our moral reasoning is pretty much a kind of pattern recognition based on previous experience - like all our other social reasoning.

Someone who'd just read a book about the horrors of Stalinism might tend to adopt an anti-consequentialist, every-life-is-sacred approach. Whereas if you'd just watched a movie in which the hero, reluctantly but rightly, decides to sacrifice one guy to save many other people, would do the opposite. Then the ethical "rules" might be confabulated to cover it.

This is a nice idea. It's open to criticism, but it's a serious suggestion, and one that deserves a decent discussion. Sadly, there isn't one. If only there were more room in the book for this kind of stuff - but oxytocin covers so many pages.

Basically, the good parts of this book are not about the brain at all.

Reading Braintrust is like going on date but then bumping into an annoying friend who insists on coming along for dinner. Jesus, The Brain, you want to say. I like you and all, but seriously, you are getting in the way right now.

Links: Other blog reviews.

Stephenie Meyer's Twilight: A Fantasy of Helplessness

This is the promised review of Twilight, everybody. I did all I could to suffer through it. Now I'm due for some good reading because I feel like my brain has been polluted by the horrible writing in this book.

The genre of female coming-of-age stories, to which Meyer's Twilight obviously belongs, underwent a profound transformation in the recent decades. Since the inception of the genre in the 18th century, the central idea of female novels of growth and development was a conflict between the female protagonist and the repressive patriarchal society that strives to stunt her growth and infantilize her. The heroine struggles valiantly against the patriarchal authority that prevents her from developing into a fully grown individual in every sense of the word. Often, however, she loses in this struggle and either dies or consents to being transformed into a perennial child at the mercy of a husband, a father, a family member, etc.

When the women's liberation movement made huge advances in its feminist struggle, everybody expected female coming-of-age stories to reflect the changes in the position of women in society. Finally, we were to read female Bildungsromane where the protagonist takes on the world, grows, develops, and uses her newfound freedom to become a complete and fulfilled adult who does not permit others to stunt her growth. Finally.

These expectations, however, were not fulfilled by the works of literature created by female writers who live in this new, liberated reality. I initially observed this phenomenon in the contemporary Spanish literature but Twilight demonstrates that this tendency also exists in other countries that have made important feminist advances. The tendency I'm talking about consists of the appearance of a huge number of female coming-of-age stories where the female protagonist goes to incredible lengths to infantilize herself. No oppressive patriarchal society persecutes these heroines trying to stunt their growth. Just the opposite, the female characters of contemporary female Bildungsromane often have a lot more freedom than most actual women of that age.

Take Bella Swan, for example. She finds herself in a situation where her divorced parents remove themselves almost completely from the task of supervising her. Bella could use this freedom to explore different facets of growing up, experiment, develop in a variety of directions. However, just like so many female protagonists of such novels she chooses to hand the authority over her life to a male protector/savior and his clan. Bella infantilizes herself in a society where nobody demands that from her. She goes to extreme lengths to become a perennial child coddled and protected by the Cullens.

In this sense, Bella does not stray far from her mother whom she describes as lost and useless without male protection. This is how Bella talks about her mother:

I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still . . .

However, those protagonists of today's female Bildungsromane whose mothers are passionately feminist are as likely as Bella to stunt their own growth and infantilize themselves. Much has been said about the nature of Bella's relationship with Edward Cullen. While I was reading the novel, however, I couldn't help noticing how much their relationship resemble that between a very small child and her parent. She pesters him with questions (and if you have ever spent any time in the company of a three year old, you can't fail to see the resemblance), he watches over her as she sleeps, he is always there to protect her from the big, menacing world she does not comprehend.

Twilight is a particularly badly written representative of a powerful trend within the genre of female coming-of-age stories of our feminist era. Women are now in a position where they have to confront things that their mothers, grandmothers and great-grandmothers never had to. Fantasies of helplessness, such as the Twilight Saga, allow female readers to imagine a world where they do not have to shoulder these new responsibilities. They can imagine themselves as eternal children supervised, protected and watched over by supernaturally strong and powerful men.

Now I have a few questions for my readers. The ideas I explore here are the ones that I developed in my doctoral dissertation. I want to spend this summer reworking it into a book. Did you find this post interesting? Easy to understand? Would you like to hear more on this subject? Any feedback will be welcome. Harsh criticisms will also be useful. 

An Update on My Heroic Struggle with Twilight

I know that I promised to take a glance at the Twilight Saga and post a review. But, sheesh, people, how can anybody manage to get through this thing? Forget about the plot, forget about the characters, just tell me how it can be humanly possible to read something so badly written? I've managed to get through sixteen pages in this entire time and the flat, choppy sentences are driving me up the wall. 

Teenagers don't talk like that, act like that, or think like that. Why, oh why, do they read thousands of pages of this sad excuse for a novel? There is so much great stuff to read in the world and so little time to read it. And still people choose this??

I knew Twilight would be bad but I had no idea it could be this abysmally low-quality.

Poor Che Guevara

I feel very sorry for Che Guevara. When he decided to go on his suicide mission in Bolivia, could he have imagined what would happen to him after his death? And I don't mean the mutilation of his body. I'm referring to the way his image and his name were commercialized. Che Guevara's name is now commonly used by spoiled rich brats to symbolize their boring rebellion against their parents. 

Che
The star of a revolutionary

And do you remember The Motorcycle Diaries? The movie was such a disgrace that it would make even the staunchest fan of Che Guevara feel happy that his idol is dead and can't see how a bunch of stupid movie-makers turned a revolutionary hero into a pathetic eunuch. 

Now the Che hagiography has taken a step further into insanity. An Argentinean publishing house has released a book about Che for children. (The link is in Spanish.)

The book is very colorful and, of course, all scenes of violence have been excised from this G-rated version of the revolutionary's life.

Just look how cute Che is walking on a tight-rope with his bunch of flowers and all. 

What a way to castrate a threatening image of a revolutionary figure. I wonder which ultra-conservative organization sponsored the release of this book. If the little Argentineans are taught to see their major revolutionary figure as silly and toothless, they will be lest attracted by the romantic notions of revolutionary activity.

I found the reference to this book on this Spanish-language blog.

Ricardian: A Review of Josephine Tey's The Daughter of Time

Most of my readers didn't warm to my first Ricardian post. This is completely understandable since the subject of whether Richard III did, in fact, murder the princes Edward and Richard in the summer of 1483 is quite academic. I will keep indulging my love of Ricardian arcana from time to time, while you should feel free to skip posts tagged "Ricardian" if the subject bores you. 

Josephine Tey created several classical British mysteries that any lover of the genre would appreciate. Few people know, however, of her contribution to Ricardian Apology. In The Daughter of Time, Tey offers us her take on the provenance of the myth that blames Richard III, the last Plantagenet king of England, for the murder of his nephews (the Princes in the Tower.)

Inspector Alan Grant finds himself stuck in a hospital, bored and desperate to participate in some sort of an investigation. While he is in a hospital bed, he only has access to history textbooks. The story of Richard III catches his eye and as he begins to read accounts of Richard's "crimes", Grant realizes just how senseless and lacking in logic all accusations against Richard are.

I might have believed Grant's asseverations
that murderers don't look like this
had I never seen pictures of Ted Bundy,
a wholesome-looking serial killer

The Inspector's journey begins in a way that I didn't find very convincing. Grant looks at the famous portrait of Richard III and realizes that a man who looks this way could not have possibly been a cold-blooded murderer of two small boys. This, of course, is very naive and smacks of Lombrosianism that had been discredited long before Tey wrote The Daughter of Time.

This, however, is the only weak point of an otherwise logical and reasonable account of the numerous holes in the myth of Richard's guilt. Inspector Grant and a young researcher who helps him discover the truth soon realize that Richard III had absolutely no reason to kill his nephews. The boys had been declared illegitimate by an Act of Parliament and Richard III occupied the throne as a well-loved and legitimate King of England. Elizabeth Woodville, the boys' mother, was friendly with Richard III until his death. Would she had visited his court and allowed her daughter to do so had Richard III, indeed, murdered her small sons? That seems highly unlikely. Moreover, after Henry Tudor defeated Richard III in the Battle of Bosworth Field, he never declared publicly that Richard had killed the boys or even that the boys were dead. He did, however, imprison the boys' mother in a convent. 

In the view of these facts, Grant arrives at a conclusion that the first Tudor king, Henry VII, was the only person with means, motive and opportunity to kill the Princes. Having absolutely no claim to the throne, he needed to destroy the Plantagenets so that nobody would dispute his rise to power. I need to tell you right now that not every Ricardian shares Tey's belief in the culpability of Henry Tudor. There are many other suspects, and you can make up your own mind as to which one is the likeliest murderer. I will keep bringing you these accounts on a regular basis.

The Other Brain

An interesting new book from R. Douglas Fields: The Other Brain.

"Glia" is a catch-all term for every cell in the nervous system that's not a neuron. We have lots and lots of them: on some estimates, 85% of the cells in the brain are glia. But to most neuroscientists at the moment, they're about as interesting as dirt is to archaeologists. They're the boring stuff that gets in the way. The name is Greek for "glue", which says a lot.

It's telling that most neuroscientists (myself included I confess) use the term "brain cells" to mean neurons, even though they're a minority. Hence the book's title: Douglas Fields argues that glia constitute a whole world, another brain - although of course, it's not seperate from the neuronal brain, and neuron-glia interactions are the really interesting thing and the central theme of the book.

Glia have historically been regarded as mere "housekeepers", keeping the brain neat and tidy by cleaning up the byproducts of neural activity. Douglas Fields explains that there's actually a lot more to glia than that, but that even if they were just housekeepers, the housekeeping they do is extremely important.

Astrocytes, one kind of glial cell, are key to the regulation of glutamate levels in the brain. Glutamate is by far the most common neurotransmitter yet it's also the most dangerous: glutamate can kill neurons if they receive too much of it (excitotoxicity). I previously wrote about some bad clams which can cause permanent brain damage if who eat them; the toxin responsible mimics the action of glutamate.

By quickly clearing up glutamate as it's released from neurons, astrocytes perform a vital function which saves the brain from self-destruction. Yet recent evidence has shown that they don't just mop up neurotransmitters, they also respond to them, and even release them. People are nowadays talking about the "tripartite synapse" - presynaptic neuron, postsynaptic neuron, and glia.


Glia even have their own communication network quite seperate from the neuronal one. Whereas neurons use electrical currents to convey signals, and chemicals to talk to other cells, astrocytes are interconnected via direct gap-junctions - literally, little holes bridging the membranes between neighbors.

Waves of calcium can travel through these junctions across long distances. The function of this glial network is almost entirely mysterious at present, but it's surely important, or it wouldn't have evolved. (A few types of human neurons do the same thing; in some animals it's more common.)

The subtitle is overblown, as subtitles often are ("From Dementia to Schizophrenia, How New Discoveries About the Brain are Revolutionizing Medicine and Science"); the book also repeats itself in a number of places, especially when it's castigating neuroscientists for overlooking glia for so long (a fair point, but it gets old.) Overall though it's very readable and it's got some nice anecdotes as well as the science.

The Other Brain makes an excellent case that neuroscience can't remain neuron-science if it hopes to answer the big questions. It's certainly opened my eyes to the importance of glia and given me ideas for my own research. As such it's one of those rare popular science books that will prove interesting to professionals and others too.

Link: Also reviewed here.
Disclaimer: I got a free review copy.

The Other Brain

An interesting new book from R. Douglas Fields: The Other Brain.

"Glia" is a catch-all term for every cell in the nervous system that's not a neuron. We have lots and lots of them: on some estimates, 85% of the cells in the brain are glia. But to most neuroscientists at the moment, they're about as interesting as dirt is to archaeologists. They're the boring stuff that gets in the way. The name is Greek for "glue", which says a lot.

It's telling that most neuroscientists (myself included I confess) use the term "brain cells" to mean neurons, even though they're a minority. Hence the book's title: Douglas Fields argues that glia constitute a whole world, another brain - although of course, it's not seperate from the neuronal brain, and neuron-glia interactions are the really interesting thing and the central theme of the book.

Glia have historically been regarded as mere "housekeepers", keeping the brain neat and tidy by cleaning up the byproducts of neural activity. Douglas Fields explains that there's actually a lot more to glia than that, but that even if they were just housekeepers, the housekeeping they do is extremely important.

Astrocytes, one kind of glial cell, are key to the regulation of glutamate levels in the brain. Glutamate is by far the most common neurotransmitter yet it's also the most dangerous: glutamate can kill neurons if they receive too much of it (excitotoxicity). I previously wrote about some bad clams which can cause permanent brain damage if who eat them; the toxin responsible mimics the action of glutamate.

By quickly clearing up glutamate as it's released from neurons, astrocytes perform a vital function which saves the brain from self-destruction. Yet recent evidence has shown that they don't just mop up neurotransmitters, they also respond to them, and even release them. People are nowadays talking about the "tripartite synapse" - presynaptic neuron, postsynaptic neuron, and glia.


Glia even have their own communication network quite seperate from the neuronal one. Whereas neurons use electrical currents to convey signals, and chemicals to talk to other cells, astrocytes are interconnected via direct gap-junctions - literally, little holes bridging the membranes between neighbors.

Waves of calcium can travel through these junctions across long distances. The function of this glial network is almost entirely mysterious at present, but it's surely important, or it wouldn't have evolved. (A few types of human neurons do the same thing; in some animals it's more common.)

The subtitle is overblown, as subtitles often are ("From Dementia to Schizophrenia, How New Discoveries About the Brain are Revolutionizing Medicine and Science"); the book also repeats itself in a number of places, especially when it's castigating neuroscientists for overlooking glia for so long (a fair point, but it gets old.) Overall though it's very readable and it's got some nice anecdotes as well as the science.

The Other Brain makes an excellent case that neuroscience can't remain neuron-science if it hopes to answer the big questions. It's certainly opened my eyes to the importance of glia and given me ideas for my own research. As such it's one of those rare popular science books that will prove interesting to professionals and others too.

Link: Also reviewed here.
Disclaimer: I got a free review copy.

An Astonishingly Brilliant Epic Tour-De-Force

So I was browsing my local bookshop yesterday.

But what to buy? The back covers are not very helpful. Apparently, every novel published nowadays is, at the worse, a breathtaking masterpiece. Most are epoch-making, life-changing works of godlike genius.

OK, but which ones are actually good?

Why is this? Part of it, surely, is that literature is an incestuous world where the same authors who write the books are the first port of call when publishers want blurbs for everyone else's. Clearly you don't want to say anything bad about your peers lest you stop getting invites to dinner parties. Unless you're embroiled in a "bitter literary feud", but no-one has the energy to do that on a regular basis.

Because everyone is constantly complimenting each other in this way, praise inflation sets in and we soon reach the point where "This is a very good book" would be a serious insult.

There's also a theory, which has been around for a good few hundred years and maybe forever, that creative types are a breed apart from everyone else, possessed of divine powers and insight. Not just the really great artists, but any artist as a profession.

When Nietzsche wrote a book comparing himself favourably to Jesus, with chapters called "Why I Am So Clever" and "Why I Am A Destiny", people thought that was a bit much. (It didn't help that he went completely insane the next year.) You can't go on record and say that about yourself, but say it about your friends and get them to say it about you, and it seems to work quite nicely.

An Astonishingly Brilliant Epic Tour-De-Force

So I was browsing my local bookshop yesterday.

But what to buy? The back covers are not very helpful. Apparently, every novel published nowadays is, at the worse, a breathtaking masterpiece. Most are epoch-making, life-changing works of godlike genius.

OK, but which ones are actually good?

Why is this? Part of it, surely, is that literature is an incestuous world where the same authors who write the books are the first port of call when publishers want blurbs for everyone else's. Clearly you don't want to say anything bad about your peers lest you stop getting invites to dinner parties. Unless you're embroiled in a "bitter literary feud", but no-one has the energy to do that on a regular basis.

Because everyone is constantly complimenting each other in this way, praise inflation sets in and we soon reach the point where "This is a very good book" would be a serious insult.

There's also a theory, which has been around for a good few hundred years and maybe forever, that creative types are a breed apart from everyone else, possessed of divine powers and insight. Not just the really great artists, but any artist as a profession.

When Nietzsche wrote a book comparing himself favourably to Jesus, with chapters called "Why I Am So Clever" and "Why I Am A Destiny", people thought that was a bit much. (It didn't help that he went completely insane the next year.) You can't go on record and say that about yourself, but say it about your friends and get them to say it about you, and it seems to work quite nicely.

Delusions of Gender

Note: This book quotes me approvingly, so this is not quite a disinterested review.

Cordelia Fine's Delusions of Gender is an engaging, entertaining and powerfully argued reply to the many authors - who range from the scientifically respectable to the less so - who've recently claimed to have shown biological sex differences in brain, mind and behaviour.

Fine makes a strong case that the sex differences we see, in everything from behaviour to school achievements in mathematics, could be caused by the society in which we live, rather than by biology. Modern culture, she says, while obviously less sexist than in the past, still contains deeply entrenched assumptions about how boys and girls ought to behave, what they ought to do and what they're good at, and these - consciously or unconsciously - shape the way we are.

Some of the Fine's targets are obviously bonkers, like Vicky Tuck, but for me, the most interesting chapters were those dealing in detail with experiments which have been held up as the strongest examples of sex differences, such as the Cambridge study claiming that newborn boys and girls differ in how much they prefer looking at faces as opposed to mechanical mobiles.

But Delusions is not, in Steven Pinker's phrase, saying we ought to return to "Blank Slatism", and it doesn't try to convince you that every single sex difference definately is purely cultural. It's more modest, and hence, much more believable: simply a reminder that the debate is still an open one.

Fine makes a convincing case (well, it convinced me) that the various scientific findings, mostly from the past 10 years, that seem to prove biological differences, are not, on the whole, very strong, and that even if we do accept their validity, they don't rule out a role for culture as well.

This latter point is, I think, especially important. Take, for example, the fact that in every country on record, men roughly between the ages of 16-30 are responsible for the vast majority of violent crimes. This surely reflects biology somehow; whether it's the fact that young men are physically the strongest people, or whether it's more psychological, is by the by.

But this doesn't mean that young men are always violent. In some countries, like Japan, violent crime is extremely rare; in other countries, it's tens of times more common; and during wars or other periods of disorder, it becomes the norm. Young men are always, relatively speaking, the most violent but the absolute rate of violence varies hugely, and that has nothing to do with gender. It's not that violent places have more men than peaceful ones.

Gender, in other words, doesn't explain violence in any useful way - even though there surely are gender differences. The same goes for everything else: men and women may well have, for biological reasons, certain tendencies or advantages, but that doesn't automatically explain (and it doesn't justify) all of the sex differences we see today; it's only ever a partial explanation, with culture being the other part.

Delusions of Gender

Note: This book quotes me approvingly, so this is not quite a disinterested review.

Cordelia Fine's Delusions of Gender is an engaging, entertaining and powerfully argued reply to the many authors - who range from the scientifically respectable to the less so - who've recently claimed to have shown biological sex differences in brain, mind and behaviour.

Fine makes a strong case that the sex differences we see, in everything from behaviour to school achievements in mathematics, could be caused by the society in which we live, rather than by biology. Modern culture, she says, while obviously less sexist than in the past, still contains deeply entrenched assumptions about how boys and girls ought to behave, what they ought to do and what they're good at, and these - consciously or unconsciously - shape the way we are.

Some of the Fine's targets are obviously bonkers, like Vicky Tuck, but for me, the most interesting chapters were those dealing in detail with experiments which have been held up as the strongest examples of sex differences, such as the Cambridge study claiming that newborn boys and girls differ in how much they prefer looking at faces as opposed to mechanical mobiles.

But Delusions is not, in Steven Pinker's phrase, saying we ought to return to "Blank Slatism", and it doesn't try to convince you that every single sex difference definately is purely cultural. It's more modest, and hence, much more believable: simply a reminder that the debate is still an open one.

Fine makes a convincing case (well, it convinced me) that the various scientific findings, mostly from the past 10 years, that seem to prove biological differences, are not, on the whole, very strong, and that even if we do accept their validity, they don't rule out a role for culture as well.

This latter point is, I think, especially important. Take, for example, the fact that in every country on record, men roughly between the ages of 16-30 are responsible for the vast majority of violent crimes. This surely reflects biology somehow; whether it's the fact that young men are physically the strongest people, or whether it's more psychological, is by the by.

But this doesn't mean that young men are always violent. In some countries, like Japan, violent crime is extremely rare; in other countries, it's tens of times more common; and during wars or other periods of disorder, it becomes the norm. Young men are always, relatively speaking, the most violent but the absolute rate of violence varies hugely, and that has nothing to do with gender. It's not that violent places have more men than peaceful ones.

Gender, in other words, doesn't explain violence in any useful way - even though there surely are gender differences. The same goes for everything else: men and women may well have, for biological reasons, certain tendencies or advantages, but that doesn't automatically explain (and it doesn't justify) all of the sex differences we see today; it's only ever a partial explanation, with culture being the other part.

In Dreams

Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams is a very long book but the essential theory is very simple: dreams are thoughts. While dreaming, we are thinking about stuff, in exactly the same way as we do when awake. The difference is that the original thoughts rarely appear as such, they are transformed into weird images.

Only emotions survived unaltered. A thought about how you're angry at your boss for not giving you a raise might become a dream where you're a cop angrily chasing a bank robber, but not into one where you're a bank robber happily counting his loot. By interpreting the meaning of dreams, the psychoanalyst could work out what the patient really felt or wanted.

The problem of course is that it's easy to make up "interpretations" that follows this rule, whatever the dream. If you did dream that you were happily counting your cash after failing to get a raise, Freud could simply say that your dream was wish-fulfilment - you were dreaming of what you wanted to happen, getting the raise.

But hang on, maybe you didn't want the raise, and you were happy not to get it, because it supported your desire to quit that crappy job and find a better one...

Despite all that, since reading Freud I've found myself paying more attention to my dreams (once you start it's hard to stop) and I've found that his rule does ring true: emotions in dreams are "real", and sometimes they can be important reminders of what you really feel about something.

Most of my dreams have no emotions: I see and hear stuff, but feel very little. But sometimes, maybe one time in ten, they are accompanied by emotions, often very strong ones. These always seem linked to the content of the dream, rather than just being random brain activity: I can't think of a dream in which I was scared of something that I wouldn't normally be scared of, for example.

Generally my dreams have little to do with my real life, but those that do are often the most emotional ones, and it's these that I think provide insights. For example, I've had several dreams in the past six months about running; in every case, they were very happy ones.

Until several months ago I was a keen runner but I've let this slip and got out of shape since. While awake, I've regretted this, a bit, but it wasn't until I reflected on my dreams that I realized how important running was to me and how much I regret giving it up.

While awake, we're always thinking about things on multiple levels: we don't just want X, we think "I want X" (not the same thing), and then we go on to wonder "But should I want X?", "Why do I want X?", "What about Y, would that be better?", etc. Thoughts get piled up on top of one another: it's all very cluttered.

In a dream, most of the layers go silent, and the underlying feeling comes closer to the surface. The principle is the same, in many ways, as this.

But how do I know that feelings in dreams are the "real" ones? In most respects, dreams are less real than waking stuff: we dream about all kinds of crazy stuff. And even if we accept that dreams offer a window into our "underlying" feelings, who's to say that deeper is better or more real?

Well, "buried" feelings matter whenever they're not really buried. If a desire was somehow "repressed" to the point of having no influence at all, it might as well not exist. But my feelings about running were not unconscious as such - I was aware of them before I had these dreams - but I was "repressing" them, not in any mysterious sense, but just in terms of telling myself that it wasn't a big deal, I'd start again soon, I didn't have time, etc.

The problem was that this "repression" was annoying, it was causing long-term frustration etc. In dreams, all of these mild emotions spanning several months were compressed into powerful feelings for the duration of the dream (a few minutes, although the dreams "felt like" they lasted hours).

Overall, I don't think it's possible or useful to interpret dreams as metaphorical representations in a Freudian sense (a train going into a tunnel = sex, or whatever). I suspect that dreams are more or less random activity in the visual and memory areas of the brain. But that doesn't mean they're meaningless: they're activity in your brain, so they can tell you about what you think and feel.

In Dreams

Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams is a very long book but the essential theory is very simple: dreams are thoughts. While dreaming, we are thinking about stuff, in exactly the same way as we do when awake. The difference is that the original thoughts rarely appear as such, they are transformed into weird images.

Only emotions survived unaltered. A thought about how you're angry at your boss for not giving you a raise might become a dream where you're a cop angrily chasing a bank robber, but not into one where you're a bank robber happily counting his loot. By interpreting the meaning of dreams, the psychoanalyst could work out what the patient really felt or wanted.

The problem of course is that it's easy to make up "interpretations" that follows this rule, whatever the dream. If you did dream that you were happily counting your cash after failing to get a raise, Freud could simply say that your dream was wish-fulfilment - you were dreaming of what you wanted to happen, getting the raise.

But hang on, maybe you didn't want the raise, and you were happy not to get it, because it supported your desire to quit that crappy job and find a better one...

Despite all that, since reading Freud I've found myself paying more attention to my dreams (once you start it's hard to stop) and I've found that his rule does ring true: emotions in dreams are "real", and sometimes they can be important reminders of what you really feel about something.

Most of my dreams have no emotions: I see and hear stuff, but feel very little. But sometimes, maybe one time in ten, they are accompanied by emotions, often very strong ones. These always seem linked to the content of the dream, rather than just being random brain activity: I can't think of a dream in which I was scared of something that I wouldn't normally be scared of, for example.

Generally my dreams have little to do with my real life, but those that do are often the most emotional ones, and it's these that I think provide insights. For example, I've had several dreams in the past six months about running; in every case, they were very happy ones.

Until several months ago I was a keen runner but I've let this slip and got out of shape since. While awake, I've regretted this, a bit, but it wasn't until I reflected on my dreams that I realized how important running was to me and how much I regret giving it up.

While awake, we're always thinking about things on multiple levels: we don't just want X, we think "I want X" (not the same thing), and then we go on to wonder "But should I want X?", "Why do I want X?", "What about Y, would that be better?", etc. Thoughts get piled up on top of one another: it's all very cluttered.

In a dream, most of the layers go silent, and the underlying feeling comes closer to the surface. The principle is the same, in many ways, as this.

But how do I know that feelings in dreams are the "real" ones? In most respects, dreams are less real than waking stuff: we dream about all kinds of crazy stuff. And even if we accept that dreams offer a window into our "underlying" feelings, who's to say that deeper is better or more real?

Well, "buried" feelings matter whenever they're not really buried. If a desire was somehow "repressed" to the point of having no influence at all, it might as well not exist. But my feelings about running were not unconscious as such - I was aware of them before I had these dreams - but I was "repressing" them, not in any mysterious sense, but just in terms of telling myself that it wasn't a big deal, I'd start again soon, I didn't have time, etc.

The problem was that this "repression" was annoying, it was causing long-term frustration etc. In dreams, all of these mild emotions spanning several months were compressed into powerful feelings for the duration of the dream (a few minutes, although the dreams "felt like" they lasted hours).

Overall, I don't think it's possible or useful to interpret dreams as metaphorical representations in a Freudian sense (a train going into a tunnel = sex, or whatever). I suspect that dreams are more or less random activity in the visual and memory areas of the brain. But that doesn't mean they're meaningless: they're activity in your brain, so they can tell you about what you think and feel.

The Joy of Sexism

This week, I've been embroiled in not one but two gender-based debates.

First up, I've been quoted in Delusions of Gender, the new book from Cordelia Fine, in which she examines the science of alleged sex differences in behaviour. The quote was from this 2008 post about Vicky Tuck, a teacher with odd ideas about the brains of boys and girls. I haven't had time to read the book yet, but a review's in the pipeline.

Then yesterday, I found out that I've been the subject of some research.

In this report, we detail research into the representation of women in science, engineering and technology (SET) within online media...

The research involved data collection and analysis from websites, web authors and young web users. We monitored SET content across 16 websites. Eight sites were generalist: BBC, Channel 4, SkyTV, The Guardian, The Daily Mail, Wikipedia, YouTube and Twitter.

Eight sites were SET-specific: New Scientist, Bad Science, The Science Museum, The Natural History Museum, Neuroskeptic Blog, Science – So What? So Everything, Watt’s Up With That? Blog and RichardDawkins.net.

Quite a line-up. Clearly they decided to look at the very best, most illustrious and most respected science blogs... and also Neuroskeptic. Anyway, unfortunately I can't access the paper, despite being in it, but according to the abstract they found that:

Online science informational content is male dominated in that far more men than women are present... we found that these women are:

• Subject to muting of their ‘voices’. This includes instances where SET women are pictured but remain anonymous and instances where they are used, mainly as science journalists, to ventriloquise other people's scientific work.
• Subject to clustering in specific SET fields and website sections, particularly those about ‘feminine’ subjects or specifically about women...
• Associated with ‘feminine’ attributes and activities, notably as caring, demonstrating empathy with children and animals...
• Predominantly White, middle-class, able-bodied and heterosexual.
• Peripheral to the main story and subordinated as students, young scientists, relatives of a male scientist ... we found less hyperlinking of women’s than men’s names in online SET.
• Discussed in terms of appearance, personality, sexuality and personal circumstances more often than men...
• More generally, constructed in ways that relocate them in the private domestic sphere, detract from their scientific contribution, and associate them, more often than men, with the new category of ‘bad science’.

Without knowing the details it's hard to evaluate these claims, but it's fair to say that some of it rings true.

There's been lots of buzz recently about the gender ratio of science bloggers - we're mostly male, who'd have guessed? - and I suppose this would be a good time to chip in. Does it matter?

I think it does, and moreover it's part of a bigger picture. As far as I can see, science bloggers are mostly: male, white, under 40... and almost all of the biggest ones are also native English speakers; I don't know if, overall, English-speakers are overrepresented, because not all blogs are written in English and I only know the ones that are - but English ones get the lions share of the traffic.

Back to gender, even in fields such as psychology and neuroscience in which there are lots of female researchers, bloggers are overwhelmingly male. Likewise, a lot of researchers, even those working in English-speaking countries, are non-native-English speakers, but they have an obvious disadvantage when it comes to blogging in English.

So science bloggers are drawn mostly from a narrow cross-section of the scientific community, which is a problem, because it greatly increases the chances of bloggers becoming an "echo chamber", or a clique, neither of which is likely to end well. Diversity is valuable, in this kind of thing, not because it's somehow morally good per se, but because it helps prevent stagnation.

The Joy of Sexism

This week, I've been embroiled in not one but two gender-based debates.

First up, I've been quoted in Delusions of Gender, the new book from Cordelia Fine, in which she examines the science of alleged sex differences in behaviour. The quote was from this 2008 post about Vicky Tuck, a teacher with odd ideas about the brains of boys and girls. I haven't had time to read the book yet, but a review's in the pipeline.

Then yesterday, I found out that I've been the subject of some research.

In this report, we detail research into the representation of women in science, engineering and technology (SET) within online media...

The research involved data collection and analysis from websites, web authors and young web users. We monitored SET content across 16 websites. Eight sites were generalist: BBC, Channel 4, SkyTV, The Guardian, The Daily Mail, Wikipedia, YouTube and Twitter.

Eight sites were SET-specific: New Scientist, Bad Science, The Science Museum, The Natural History Museum, Neuroskeptic Blog, Science – So What? So Everything, Watt’s Up With That? Blog and RichardDawkins.net.

Quite a line-up. Clearly they decided to look at the very best, most illustrious and most respected science blogs... and also Neuroskeptic. Anyway, unfortunately I can't access the paper, despite being in it, but according to the abstract they found that:

Online science informational content is male dominated in that far more men than women are present... we found that these women are:

• Subject to muting of their ‘voices’. This includes instances where SET women are pictured but remain anonymous and instances where they are used, mainly as science journalists, to ventriloquise other people's scientific work.
• Subject to clustering in specific SET fields and website sections, particularly those about ‘feminine’ subjects or specifically about women...
• Associated with ‘feminine’ attributes and activities, notably as caring, demonstrating empathy with children and animals...
• Predominantly White, middle-class, able-bodied and heterosexual.
• Peripheral to the main story and subordinated as students, young scientists, relatives of a male scientist ... we found less hyperlinking of women’s than men’s names in online SET.
• Discussed in terms of appearance, personality, sexuality and personal circumstances more often than men...
• More generally, constructed in ways that relocate them in the private domestic sphere, detract from their scientific contribution, and associate them, more often than men, with the new category of ‘bad science’.

Without knowing the details it's hard to evaluate these claims, but it's fair to say that some of it rings true.

There's been lots of buzz recently about the gender ratio of science bloggers - we're mostly male, who'd have guessed? - and I suppose this would be a good time to chip in. Does it matter?

I think it does, and moreover it's part of a bigger picture. As far as I can see, science bloggers are mostly: male, white, under 40... and almost all of the biggest ones are also native English speakers; I don't know if, overall, English-speakers are overrepresented, because not all blogs are written in English and I only know the ones that are - but English ones get the lions share of the traffic.

Back to gender, even in fields such as psychology and neuroscience in which there are lots of female researchers, bloggers are overwhelmingly male. Likewise, a lot of researchers, even those working in English-speaking countries, are non-native-English speakers, but they have an obvious disadvantage when it comes to blogging in English.

So science bloggers are drawn mostly from a narrow cross-section of the scientific community, which is a problem, because it greatly increases the chances of bloggers becoming an "echo chamber", or a clique, neither of which is likely to end well. Diversity is valuable, in this kind of thing, not because it's somehow morally good per se, but because it helps prevent stagnation.

The Refrigerator Mother

Autism is biological: that's the one thing everyone agrees about it. Scientific orthodoxy is that it's a neurodevelopmental condition caused by genetics, in most cases, and by environmental insult, such fetal exposure to anticonvulsants, in rare cases. Jenny McCarthy orthodoxy is that "toxins" - usually in vaccines - are to blame, not genes, and that the underlying damage might be in the gut not the brain: but they agree that it's biological.

However, it hasn't always been this way. From the 1950s to about the 1980s, there was a widespread view that autism was a purely psychological condition. Bruno Bettelheim is the name most often linked to this view. Bettelheim spent most of his career at the University of Chicago's Orthogenic School, an institution for "disturbed" children, including autistics as well as "schizophrenic" and others.

His magnum opus was his book The Empty Fortress: Infantile Autism and the Birth of the Self, in which he outlined his theory of autism illustrated by three long case histories. His ideas are now referred to as the "refrigerator mother" theory.

For Bettelheim, autism was a reaction to severe neglect. Not of physical needs, which would be fatal, but of emotional relations. In his view, the most common underlying cause of this neglect was when the mother (and to a lesser extent, the father) did not want the child to exist. They cared for him, but they did so in a mechanical fashion, treating the baby as a mouth to feed and a nappy to change, rather than as a human being.

Hence the "refrigerator" - it provides food, but it's cold.

The result was that the child never learned to interact with the mother on anything other than a mechanical level; and for Bettelheim, as for most psychoanalysts, our relationships with our parents were the model on which all our other relationships were based.

The mechanical mother thus left the autistic child unable to relate to anyone, indeed, unable to conceive of the existence of other human beings, and thus lacking a sense of "self" as opposed to "others".


The repetitive behaviours and obsessive interests characteristic of autism were seen as an active, even heroic, coping strategy. They were the child's way of asserting what little self they had, by doing something for themselves, albeit something "pointless". But they also had symbolic meanings: "Joey's" interest in fans, propellers and other rotating objects was interpreted as a representation of the "vicious circle" of his life. And so on.

*

Bettelheim's ideas are now generally derided as dangerously wrong; his reputation suffered a hit when, after his suicide in 1990, stories emerged from former colleagues and patients painting him in a nasty light. But psychiatry's wider turn away from Freud and towards biology probably made his downfall inevitable.

Today the "refrigerator mother theory" is routinely cited as a cautionary tale of how deeply one can misunderstand autism. Ironically, Bettelheim's only reference to that term in The Empty Fortress is a quotation, from none other than Leo Kanner, the man who coined the term 'childhood autism' in 1944. Kanner referred to the "emotional refrigeration" he observed in the families of autistic children, although it's not clear that he thought of it as causing the autism.

There is no doubt that Bettelheim's approach was unscientific. He repeatedly claimed that the fact that many children improved after three or four years at the Orthogenic School proved that their autism was psychological, because if it were biological it would be permanent.

Yet there is no reason to assume that children with a neurodevelopmental disorder would never change as they grew up. There was no control group, let alone a placebo group, to show that the children wouldn't have "grown out of" some symptoms anyway. (Edit: In fact, Kanner himself had written about improvement with age way back in 1943, in the first ever paper about autistic children! So there was simply no excuse for Bettelheim's flawed argument.)

Bettelheim's attributing the cause of autism to family dynamics was post hoc: for each autistic child, he looked back into their family history (i.e. what the parents reported) and found that they "consciously or unconsciously" didn't want the child to exist.

Yet all this proves is that it is possible to interpret a parent's behaviour in that way, in retrospect, if you want to. The "or unconsciously" caveat creates endless scope for over-interpretation.

But even if we now see autism as a neurodevelopmental disorder, there is something attractive about Bettelheim's book: it seems to be a serious attempt to understand the autistic experience "from the inside", and to appreciate the autistic child as a person rather than a disease. This is something that we rarely see nowadays.

Bettelheim's problem was that he tried to understand autistic behaviour from the assumption that the autistic child was, deep down, entirely "normal". Hence his interpretation of, say, Joey's fascination with rotating objects as symbolic of his life situation (and also as reflecting the fact that his father was often flying away in propeller-driven aircraft, which he was).

Yet couldn't it be that Joey was just fascinated by spinning fans per se? There's nothing interesting about rotating objects. They must have a hidden meaning. Otherwise it makes no sense - to someone who isn't autistic. But all that means is that trying to understand the autistic child is rather difficult if you don't bear in mind that they are autistic.

The Refrigerator Mother

Autism is biological: that's the one thing everyone agrees about it. Scientific orthodoxy is that it's a neurodevelopmental condition caused by genetics, in most cases, and by environmental insult, such fetal exposure to anticonvulsants, in rare cases. Jenny McCarthy orthodoxy is that "toxins" - usually in vaccines - are to blame, not genes, and that the underlying damage might be in the gut not the brain: but they agree that it's biological.

However, it hasn't always been this way. From the 1950s to about the 1980s, there was a widespread view that autism was a purely psychological condition. Bruno Bettelheim is the name most often linked to this view. Bettelheim spent most of his career at the University of Chicago's Orthogenic School, an institution for "disturbed" children, including autistics as well as "schizophrenic" and others.

His magnum opus was his book The Empty Fortress: Infantile Autism and the Birth of the Self, in which he outlined his theory of autism illustrated by three long case histories. His ideas are now referred to as the "refrigerator mother" theory.

For Bettelheim, autism was a reaction to severe neglect. Not of physical needs, which would be fatal, but of emotional relations. In his view, the most common underlying cause of this neglect was when the mother (and to a lesser extent, the father) did not want the child to exist. They cared for him, but they did so in a mechanical fashion, treating the baby as a mouth to feed and a nappy to change, rather than as a human being.

Hence the "refrigerator" - it provides food, but it's cold.

The result was that the child never learned to interact with the mother on anything other than a mechanical level; and for Bettelheim, as for most psychoanalysts, our relationships with our parents were the model on which all our other relationships were based.

The mechanical mother thus left the autistic child unable to relate to anyone, indeed, unable to conceive of the existence of other human beings, and thus lacking a sense of "self" as opposed to "others".


The repetitive behaviours and obsessive interests characteristic of autism were seen as an active, even heroic, coping strategy. They were the child's way of asserting what little self they had, by doing something for themselves, albeit something "pointless". But they also had symbolic meanings: "Joey's" interest in fans, propellers and other rotating objects was interpreted as a representation of the "vicious circle" of his life. And so on.

*

Bettelheim's ideas are now generally derided as dangerously wrong; his reputation suffered a hit when, after his suicide in 1990, stories emerged from former colleagues and patients painting him in a nasty light. But psychiatry's wider turn away from Freud and towards biology probably made his downfall inevitable.

Today the "refrigerator mother theory" is routinely cited as a cautionary tale of how deeply one can misunderstand autism. Ironically, Bettelheim's only reference to that term in The Empty Fortress is a quotation, from none other than Leo Kanner, the man who coined the term 'childhood autism' in 1944. Kanner referred to the "emotional refrigeration" he observed in the families of autistic children, although it's not clear that he thought of it as causing the autism.

There is no doubt that Bettelheim's approach was unscientific. He repeatedly claimed that the fact that many children improved after three or four years at the Orthogenic School proved that their autism was psychological, because if it were biological it would be permanent.

Yet there is no reason to assume that children with a neurodevelopmental disorder would never change as they grew up. There was no control group, let alone a placebo group, to show that the children wouldn't have "grown out of" some symptoms anyway. (Edit: In fact, Kanner himself had written about improvement with age way back in 1943, in the first ever paper about autistic children! So there was simply no excuse for Bettelheim's flawed argument.)

Bettelheim's attributing the cause of autism to family dynamics was post hoc: for each autistic child, he looked back into their family history (i.e. what the parents reported) and found that they "consciously or unconsciously" didn't want the child to exist.

Yet all this proves is that it is possible to interpret a parent's behaviour in that way, in retrospect, if you want to. The "or unconsciously" caveat creates endless scope for over-interpretation.

But even if we now see autism as a neurodevelopmental disorder, there is something attractive about Bettelheim's book: it seems to be a serious attempt to understand the autistic experience "from the inside", and to appreciate the autistic child as a person rather than a disease. This is something that we rarely see nowadays.

Bettelheim's problem was that he tried to understand autistic behaviour from the assumption that the autistic child was, deep down, entirely "normal". Hence his interpretation of, say, Joey's fascination with rotating objects as symbolic of his life situation (and also as reflecting the fact that his father was often flying away in propeller-driven aircraft, which he was).

Yet couldn't it be that Joey was just fascinated by spinning fans per se? There's nothing interesting about rotating objects. They must have a hidden meaning. Otherwise it makes no sense - to someone who isn't autistic. But all that means is that trying to understand the autistic child is rather difficult if you don't bear in mind that they are autistic.

I Feel X, Therefore Y

I'm reading Le Rouge et le Noir ("The Red and the Black"), an 1830 French novel by Stendhal...

One passage in particular struck me. Stendhal is describing two characters who are falling in love (mostly); both are young, have lived all their lives in a backwater provincial town, and neither has been well educated.

In Paris, the nature of [her] attitude towards [him] would have very quickly become plain - but in Paris, love is an offspring of the novels. In three or four such novels, or even in a couplet or two of the kind of song they sing at the Gymnase, the young tutor and his shy mistress would have found a clear explanation of their relations with each other. Novels would have traced out a part for them to play, given them a model to imitate.

The idea that reading novels could change the way people fall in love might strange today, but remember that in 1830 the novel as we know it was still a fairly new invention, and was seen in conservative quarters as potentially dangerous. Stendhal was of course pro-novels (he was a novelist), but he accepts that they have a profound effect on the minds of readers.

Notice that his claim is not that novels create entirely new emotions. The two characters had feelings for each other despite never having read any. Novels suggest roles to play and models to follow: in other words, they provide interpretations as to what emotions mean and expectations as to what behaviours they lead to. You feel that, therefore you'll do this.

This bears on many things that I've written about recently. Take the active placebo phenomenon. This refers to cases in which a drug creates certain feelings, and the user interprets these feelings as meaning that "the drug is working", so they expect to improve, which leads them to feel better and behave as if they are getting better.

As I said at the time, active placebos are most often discussed in terms of drug side effects creating the expectation of improvement, but the same thing also happens with real drug effects. Valium (diazepam) produces a sensation of relaxation and reduces anxiety as a direct pharmacological effect but if someone takes it expecting to feel better, this will also drive improvement via expectation: the Valium is working, I can cope with this.

The same process can be harmful, though, and this may be even more common. The cognitive-behavioural theory of recurrent panic attacks is that they're caused by vicious cycles of feelings and expectations. Suppose someone feels a bit anxious, or notices their heart is racing a little. They could interpret that in various ways. They might write it off and ignore it, but they might conclude that they're about to have a panic attack.

If so, that's understandably going to make them more anxious, because panic is horrible. Anxiety causes adrenaline released, the heart beats ever faster etc., and this causes yet more anxiety until a full-blown panic attack occurs. The more often this happens, the more they come to fear even minor symptoms of physical arousal because they expect to suffer panic. Cognitive behavioural therapy for panic generally consists of breaking the cycle by changing interpretations, and by gradual exposure to physical symptoms and "panic-inducing" situations until they no longer cause the expectation of panic.

This also harks back to Ethan Watters' book Crazy Like Us which I praised a few months back. Watters argued that much mental illness is shaped by culture in the following way: culture tells us what to expect and how people behave when they feel distressed in certain ways, and thus channels distress into recognizable "syndromes" - a part to play, a model to imitate, though probably quite unconsciously. The most common syndromes in Western culture can be found in the DSM-IV, but this doesn't mean that they exist in the rest of the world.

Like Stendhal's, this theory does not attempt to explain everything - it assumes that there are fundamental feelings of distress - and I do not think that it explains the core symptoms of severe mental illness such as bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. But people with bipolar and schizophrenia have interpretations and expectations just like everyone else, and these may be very important in determining long-term prognosis. If you expect to be ill forever and never have a normal life, you probably won't.