Mental Health Blogs

Archive for the ‘We're Only Human’ Category

Make no mistake. Flu season isn’t over. I was in my doc’s office the other day for something routine, and he’s still pushing the H1N1 vaccine. I don’t know why the other patients were in the waiting room, but I do know a few of them were sniffling and sneezing. There was a video on the TV about the importance of hand washing during flu season, to prevent the spread of germs. My throat started to feel a little sore.

I’m fine. I apparently escaped without exposure to anything sickening. But my mind was on high alert the entire time I was there. Such waiting room vigilance is not unusual, and indeed has long been recognized as a kind of behavioral immune system. Simply seeing signs of disease triggers thoughts and emotions that motivate us to take extra precautions around any possible contagion.

And it may trigger our bodies as well, according to new research from the University of British Columbia. Psychologist Mark Schaller and his colleagues suspected that psychological defenses might be just part of a broader immune response—one involving the natural killer cells and cytokines and other biochemical defenses that fight off invading germs. They decided to test this idea—by seeing if they could trick healthy bodies into action. Here’s the study:

The scientists recruited healthy men and women and had them watch slide shows. All of the volunteers watched a 10-minute slide show about furniture; this was deliberately boring, to act as a control condition. Then a bit later, half the volunteers watched a fairly disgusting slide show, with images of skin lesions and oozing pox, in addition to garden variety sneezes and coughs. The other volunteers watch a slide show about guns—not just guns, but people brandishing firearms, and mostly pointing the weapons directly at the viewer.

The guns were important, because guns are very threatening—especially when they’re aimed at you—but they’re not related at all to disease or infection. The scientists wanted to rule out threat—any threat—as the cause of any immune response they measured. And that’s just what they saw. They drew blood from the volunteers before and after each slide show, and measured the levels of a cytokine called IL-6, a major fighter in the immune war. Those who had viewed the depictions of sickness showed a dramatic jump in IL-6 production—more than 23 percent. These same volunteers had no biological response to looking at furniture and—more important—the volunteers who looked at brandished weapons also showed no significant immune response.

One possible interpretation of these results is that looking at pox and sores is stressful, and that the stress triggered the immune response. But the scientists ruled that out. They measured self-reported stress, and in fact those who had watched the guns were under more—not less—stress. The psychologists also ruled out personality as an explanation: They measured traits like neuroticism and agreeableness as well as the volunteers’ perceived vulnerability to illness—none of these traits distinguished the gun viewers from the disease viewers. The only explanation, it appears, is that simply seeing other people’s sickness prompted the volunteers’ immune systems to act as if they were under attack.

Is this a good thing? Perhaps not as good as it sounds. As the researchers explain this week in the on-line version of Psychological Science, a direct link between perception and immune response may have helped our ancient ancestors respond quickly and efficiently to pathogens. It may even have helped us evolve as a social species by permitting early humans to gather in groups. But that doesn’t mean it’s still a good thing. All sorts of social cues can today mimic actual disease threats, causing the immune system to respond aggressively even when there is no real threat. Too many false starts could compromise immune function over time, with serious consequences for human health and welfare.

Excerpts from “We’re Only Human” appear regularly in The Huffington Post and Scientific American Mind. Wray Herbert also writes the “Full Frontal Psychology” blog at True/Slant.

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Brent Staples is an editorial writer for the New York Times and a University of Chicago-trained psychologist. He is also African-American, and back in the 70s, when he was doing his graduate studies, he discovered that he could threaten white people simply by walking down the streets of his Hyde Park neighborhood. When white couples saw him coming, especially at night, they would lock arms, stop all conversation, and stare straight ahead. Sometimes they would cross to the other side of the street.

The white Chicagoans were obviously being influenced by the stereotype of the dangerous young black man. But the more sinister effects of the stereotype were on Staples himself. At first he played with this new-found power, deliberately using it to “scatter the pigeons.” But he also felt guilty about discomfiting innocent strangers, and ultimately he figured out a way to defuse his own potent symbolism. He did this simply by whistling—whistling Vivaldi. Somehow, whistling the sweet refrains of the Venetian composer’s Four Seasons was enough to trump the stereotype and put the neighbors at ease.

But Staples wasn’t at ease. Whether he was exploiting the stereotype or resenting it or actively countering it, it was on his mind, distracting him from other matters. Social psychologist Claude Steele borrows from Staples’s experience for the title and central metaphor of his new book, Whistling Vivaldi (W.W. Norton), an illuminating tour through many years work on stereotypes and “stereotype threat.” Stereotypes are rampant in society, Steele argues, but his purpose here is not to whine about the unfairness of these caricatured views. Instead, he takes us inside his and others’ labs to show precisely how stereotypes commandeer the mind and do their psychological damage.

Steele, who is also African-American, is especially interested in performance—in school, sports and the workplace—and indeed his work began with his curiosity about the sub-par performance of even the best African-American university students. He had a theory about academic failure, which basically goes like this: Even in the absence of overt racism, stereotypes about unintelligent African-Americans are always “in the air.” That is, African-American students are aware of these common caricatures, and this awareness makes them anxious—anxious about reinforcing the group stereotype and contributing to its legitimacy. This anxiety, through a variety of physiological pathways, actually depletes the students’ cognitive reserves—leading, ironically, to exactly the poor academic performance that the stereotype predicts.

Steele marshals study after study to demonstrate the power of such stereotype threat. In a typical experiment, for example, he had both white and African-American students take a rigorous test, but beforehand he told only some of the students that it was a test of intelligence; the others believed it was a test of no particular importance. The African-American students who thought their intelligence was being assessed, and compared to white intelligence, did much worse on the exam—worse than the whites and worse than the African-Americans who were under no stereotype threat.

And it’s not just African-Americans who suffer under stereotype threat. If women believe they are being compared to men in math, they indeed perform worse on math tests. If white men are told that their natural athletic ability is being measured, they choke in a golf contest against African-American golfers; but if they’re told that their golf acumen is being tested, they outperform African-Americans. Indeed, fifteen years of such studies has demonstrated the effects of stereotype threat in Latinos, third-grade schoolgirls, Asian American students, U.S. soldiers, female business students, older Americans, German and French students, aspiring psychologists. The list goes on.

Steele’s unique contribution is taking us inside the mind of the stereotype victim, and it’s not a pretty sight. When we’re unnerved by an unsavory caricature, our minds race; we’re vigilant; we’re arguing internally against the stereotype; denying its relevance; disparaging anyone who would use such a stereotype; pitying ourselves; trying to be stoic. In short, we’re doing everything except high level thinking—the kind that leads to academic excellence. We’ve channeled our limited cognitive power into dealing with the threatening caricature.

Steele ends Whistling Vivaldi with prescriptions for countering the effects of stereotype threat—creating self-affirming narratives, for example, and mind-sets that emphasize growth and change rather than fixed abilities. These are proven strategies for creating “identity safety,” but they need to begin early in children’s lives. Ignoring the perils of stereotypes is just another way of whistling in the dark.

Excerpts from “We’re Only Human” appear in The Huffington Post and Scientific American Mind. Wray Herbert’s book, On Second Thought: Outsmarting Your Mind’s Hard-Wired Habits, will be published by Crown in September.

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We humans have much more self-discipline than other animals. We can and do set goals—losing 25 pounds, going to college—and then go without certain pleasures to achieve those goals. We’re far from perfect at this, but there’s no question that better self-control sets us apart from more lowly beasts.

Scientists have long argued that delaying gratification requires a sense of “self.” Having a sense of personal identity allows us to compare what we are today, at this very moment, with what we want to be—an idealized self. Aspiring to this idealized self is what fosters uniquely human self-control powers.

Well maybe—or maybe not. New research is now suggesting a much more primitive explanation for our powers of self-discipline—one that brings us down a notch or two
in the animal kingdom. Indeed, it appears that, even with our lofty goals, we may rely on the same basic biological mechanism for self-discipline as our four-legged best friends. Here’s the science.

Psychological scientist Holly Miller and her colleagues at the University of Kentucky knew from previous research that human self-control relies on the brain’s “executive” powers, which coordinate thought and action. It’s further known that this kind of cognitive processing is fueled by glucose, and that depletion of the brain’s fuel supply compromises self-discipline. But is this a uniquely human system? Or do less evolved animals rely on sugar-powered executive powers as well?

To find out, Miller recruited a group of dogs ranging in age from ten months to more than ten years old. Some were pure breeds, like Australian shepherds and Vizlas, while others were mutts. The dogs were all familiar with a toy called a Tug-a-Jug, which is just a clear cylinder with treats inside; dogs can easily manipulate the Tug-a-Jug to get a tasty payoff. In the experiment, some of the dogs were ordered by their owners to “sit” and “stay” for ten minutes. That’s a long time to sit still; it was meant to exhaust the hounds mentally, and thus to deplete their fuel reserves. The other dogs, the controls, merely sat in a cage for ten minutes.

Then all the dogs were given the familiar Tug-a-Jug, except that it had been altered so that it was now impossible to get the treats out. The hungry dogs could see and hear the treats—but not get at them. The idea was to see if the previous demand for self-discipline made the dogs less, well, dogged in working for the treats. And it did, unmistakably. Compared to the dogs who had simply been caged, those who had stayed still for ten minutes gave up much more quickly—after less than a minute, compared to more than two minutes for the controls. In other words, exerting self-discipline had used up much of their sugar supply—and weakened the executive powers needed for goal-directed effort.

Executive powers? In old Shep? These findings suggest that self-control may not be a crowning psychological achievement of humanity, and indeed may have nothing to do with self-awareness. It may simply be biology—and beastly biology at that. These are humbling results, so the scientists decided to recheck them in a different way. In a second experiment, they recruited another group of dogs, this time including Shetland sheepdogs and border collies. As before, some of the dogs sat and stayed for ten minutes while the others were caged. But this time, half of the obedient dogs got a sugar drink following the exercise, while others got an artificially sweetened drink. Miller basically wanted to see if she could restore the dogs’ executive powers by refueling them.

Which is exactly what happened. As reported in the April issue of the journal Psychological Science, the dogs who exerted self-control, then got replenished with sugar, were just like the dogs who had not been exhausted to begin with. They persisted just as much with the Tug-a-Jug, even though it was frustrating and demanding to do so. The depleted dogs who were not replenished gave up in short order. In short, they all acted just like humans.

So we’re not unique—at least not in this regard. It appears that hallmark sense of human identity—our selfhood—is not a prerequisite for self-discipline. Whatever it is that makes us go to the gym and save for college is fueled by simple sugar—much like our hound’s decision to sit still and stay.

Articles from “We’re Only Human” also run regularly in The Huffington Post and in Scientific American Mind. Wray Herbert’s book, On Second Thought: Outsmarting Your Mind’s Hard-Wired Habits, will be published by Crown in September.

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We humans have much more self-discipline than other animals. We can and do set goals—losing 25 pounds, going to college—and then go without certain pleasures to achieve those goals. We’re far from perfect at this, but there’s no question that better self-control sets us apart from more lowly beasts.

Scientists have long argued that delaying gratification requires a sense of “self.” Having a sense of personal identity allows us to compare what we are today, at this very moment, with what we want to be—an idealized self. Aspiring to this idealized self is what fosters uniquely human self-control powers.

Well maybe—or maybe not. New research is now suggesting a much more primitive explanation for our powers of self-discipline—one that brings us down a notch or two
in the animal kingdom. Indeed, it appears that, even with our lofty goals, we may rely on the same basic biological mechanism for self-discipline as our four-legged best friends. Here’s the science.

Psychological scientist Holly Miller and her colleagues at the University of Kentucky knew from previous research that human self-control relies on the brain’s “executive” powers, which coordinate thought and action. It’s further known that this kind of cognitive processing is fueled by glucose, and that depletion of the brain’s fuel supply compromises self-discipline. But is this a uniquely human system? Or do less evolved animals rely on sugar-powered executive powers as well?

To find out, Miller recruited a group of dogs ranging in age from ten months to more than ten years old. Some were pure breeds, like Australian shepherds and Vizlas, while others were mutts. The dogs were all familiar with a toy called a Tug-a-Jug, which is just a clear cylinder with treats inside; dogs can easily manipulate the Tug-a-Jug to get a tasty payoff. In the experiment, some of the dogs were ordered by their owners to “sit” and “stay” for ten minutes. That’s a long time to sit still; it was meant to exhaust the hounds mentally, and thus to deplete their fuel reserves. The other dogs, the controls, merely sat in a cage for ten minutes.

Then all the dogs were given the familiar Tug-a-Jug, except that it had been altered so that it was now impossible to get the treats out. The hungry dogs could see and hear the treats—but not get at them. The idea was to see if the previous demand for self-discipline made the dogs less, well, dogged in working for the treats. And it did, unmistakably. Compared to the dogs who had simply been caged, those who had stayed still for ten minutes gave up much more quickly—after less than a minute, compared to more than two minutes for the controls. In other words, exerting self-discipline had used up much of their sugar supply—and weakened the executive powers needed for goal-directed effort.

Executive powers? In old Shep? These findings suggest that self-control may not be a crowning psychological achievement of humanity, and indeed may have nothing to do with self-awareness. It may simply be biology—and beastly biology at that. These are humbling results, so the scientists decided to recheck them in a different way. In a second experiment, they recruited another group of dogs, this time including Shetland sheepdogs and border collies. As before, some of the dogs sat and stayed for ten minutes while the others were caged. But this time, half of the obedient dogs got a sugar drink following the exercise, while others got an artificially sweetened drink. Miller basically wanted to see if she could restore the dogs’ executive powers by refueling them.

Which is exactly what happened. As reported in the April issue of the journal Psychological Science, the dogs who exerted self-control, then got replenished with sugar, were just like the dogs who had not been exhausted to begin with. They persisted just as much with the Tug-a-Jug, even though it was frustrating and demanding to do so. The depleted dogs who were not replenished gave up in short order. In short, they all acted just like humans.

So we’re not unique—at least not in this regard. It appears that hallmark sense of human identity—our selfhood—is not a prerequisite for self-discipline. Whatever it is that makes us go to the gym and save for college is fueled by simple sugar—much like our hound’s decision to sit still and stay.

Articles from “We’re Only Human” also run regularly in The Huffington Post and in Scientific American Mind. Wray Herbert’s book, On Second Thought: Outsmarting Your Mind’s Hard-Wired Habits, will be published by Crown in September.

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Fans of the Harry Potter books will be familiar with the art of Legilimency. Legilimency is an advanced form of wizardry, the supernatural ability to coax thoughts and feelings and memories from another’s mind. It’s a magical skill encompassing mind reading and lie detection—and it’s black magic in the wrong hands. Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, is a master Legilimens, as are the evil Snape and Voldemort. Harry never quite masters the difficult craft.

Many of us Muggles wouldn’t mind a touch of telepathy from time to time—though for much more ordinary purposes. Wouldn’t it be helpful to know—to really know—what your colleagues are thinking about that paper you just presented? Or how about that blind date? Did she find you witty? Attractive? Foolish? Humans are actually very bad at mind reading. Indeed, studies have shown that we do no better than chance when intuiting how much people like us.

Well, it may now be possible to do better than that. We may not have supernatural powers, but we do have untapped cognitive powers that might be harnessed to help us more accurately assess what others think of us. Two psychological scientists have been exploring why we misinterpret others’ thoughts so often, and they have been using these insights to construct a tool for ordinary, everyday telepathy.

Tal Eyal of Ben Gurion University in Israel and Nicholas Epley of the University of Chicago started with “construal theory.” That’s just psychological jargon meaning that we perceive different people and things in our world at different levels of detail. Think of two houses; you’re standing in the yard right next to one of them, and the other is on a hill a quarter mile away. The distant house is only a vague outline; it’s got two stories, a pitched roof, windows and a door. By contrast, you see the house next to you in all its detail, right down to the marigolds in the flower boxes and the chipped green paint on the shutters.

And this is how we construe ourselves and others as well—which is why we have so much trouble reading minds. We see ourselves in all our glorious (or inglorious) detail, so we assume that others do as well. But in fact others see us as off in the distance, drawn only in broad strokes. Eyal and Epley figured that if we can somehow manage to take the long view of ourselves—the view that others routinely take—then we might be able to get a more accurate sense of what others think and feel about us.

Here’s how they tested this idea in the laboratory. They had each of a large group of volunteers pose for a photograph, which was displayed on a computer screen. The volunteers were told that someone of the opposite sex would be rating their attractiveness—not unlike a blind date. But some were told that they would be judged later that day, while others were told that the judging wouldn’t take place for several months. This was the laboratory equivalent of psychological distance, which the scientists anticipated would determine how people read the minds of their judges.

To find out, those in the beauty contest were asked to write down how they expected the other person to describe the photograph—and how that person would rate their attractiveness. And other volunteers—the judges—in fact did this, describing the photo and rating the person’s looks. And what did they find out? Those who didn’t expect to be judged for several months were much more accurate in “mind reading” others’ opinions and ratings. That’s because imagining themselves as psychologically distant brought them more in sync with the reality of how people see other people. Those who anticipated having their looks judged that very afternoon guessed that their judges would be much pickier and more critical than they were in fact. They expected (wrongly) to be put under a microscope.

It’s important to note that the judges’ opinions didn’t change. People always see others in general and abstract ways. What changed were the opinions ascribed to the judges—the mind reading. The actual descriptions are telling. For example, those who were close (in time and psychologically) expected to be described in immediate and close detail—pony tail, weary eyes—where in fact the judges were quite general in their descriptions—Asian, slender, wears glasses or doesn’t. Much like the near and distant houses.

The researchers ran another version of this experiment, but this one focused on general impressions rather than looks. In this study, volunteers talked into a microphone for 2 ½ minutes, describing themselves in great detail—their education and hobbies and family and dreams. They knew that others would be listening to this recording and forming an impression of them, but again the distancing varied: As before, some thought they would be evaluated later in the day, while others thought that would occur months later.

The results were basically the same as before. As reported on-line in the journal Psychological Science, those who had more psychological distance from themselves had a much more realistic sense of how others saw them. They were able to see the “big picture” rather than focusing on trivial flaws and defects that only a microscope can detect. In short, they were better mind readers.

This is not simply putting oneself into someone else’s shoes. The scientists emphasize that, and indeed they ran to test to compare construal-based thinking to mere perspective-taking. Perspective-taking didn’t match up. That’s because being in another’s shoes is not a scientific concept; it’s not based on any understanding of human cognition. Psychological distancing is. And as these experiments show, it can be a powerful cognitive tool for everyday telepathy. It may not be Legilimency, but it’s not bad for mere Muggles.

Excerpts from “We’re Only Human” also appear in The Huffington Post and Scientific American Mind. Wray Herbert’s book, On Second Thought: Outsmarting Your Mind’s Hard-Wired Habits, will be published by Crown in September.

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Within just a few blocks of my office, street vendors will sell me a Versace t-shirt or a silk tie from Prada, cheap. Or I could get a deal on a Rolex, or a chic pair of Ray Ban shades. These aren’t authentic brand name products, of course. They’re inexpensive replicas. But they make me look and feel good, and I doubt any of my friends can tell the difference.

That’s why we buy knockoffs, isn’t it? To polish our self-image—and broadcast that polished version of our personality to the world—at half the price? But does it work? After all, we first have to convince ourselves of our idealized image if we are going to sway anyone else. Can we really become Ray Ban-wearing, Versace-bedecked sophisticates in our own mind—just by dressing up?

New research suggests that knockoffs may not work as magically as we’d like—and indeed may backfire. Three psychological scientists—Francesca Gino of Chapel Hill, Michael Norton of Harvard Business School, and Dan Ariely of Duke—have been exploring the power and pitfalls of fake adornment in the lab. They wanted to see if counterfeit stuff might have hidden psychological costs, warping our actions and attitudes in undesirable ways.

Here’s an example of their work. The scientists recruited a large sample of young women and had them wear pricey Chloe sunglasses. The glasses were the real thing, but half the women thought they were wearing knockoffs. They wanted to see if wearing counterfeit shades—a form of dishonesty—might actually make the women act dishonestly in other ways.

So they had them perform a couple tasks—tasks that presented opportunities for lying and cheating. In one, for example, the women worked on a complicated set of mathematical puzzles—a task they couldn’t possibly complete in the time allowed. When time elapsed, the women were told to score themselves on the honor system—and to take money for each correct score. Unbeknownst to them, the scientists were monitoring both their work and their scoring.
And guess what. The women wearing the fake Chloe shades cheated more—considerably more. Fully 70 percent inflated their performance when they thought nobody was checking on them—and in effect stole cash from the coffer.

To double-check this distressing result, the scientists put the women through a completely different task, one that forced a choice between the right answer and the more profitable answer. And again the Chloe-wearing women pocketed the petty cash. Notably, the women cheated not only when they expressed a preference for the cheap knockoffs, but also when the real and fake designer glasses were randomly handed out. So it appears that the very act of wearing the counterfeit eyewear triggered the lying and cheating.

This is bizarre and disturbing, but it gets worse. The psychologists wondered if inauthentic image-making might not only corrupt personal ethics, but also lead to a generally cynical attitude toward other people. In other words, if wearing counterfeit stuff makes people feel inauthentic and behave unethically, might they see others as phony and unethical, too? To test this, they again handed out genuine and counterfeit Chloe shades, but this time they had the volunteers complete a survey about “someone they knew.” Would this person use an express line with too many groceries? Pad an expense report? Take home office supplies? There were also more elaborate scenarios involving business ethics. The idea was that all the answers taken together would characterize each volunteer as having a generally positive view of others—or a generally cynical view.

Cynical, without question. Compared to volunteers who were wearing authentic Chloe glasses, those wearing the knockoffs saw other people as more dishonest, less truthful, and more likely to act unethically in business dealings.

So what’s going on here? Well, the scientists ran a final experiment to answer this question, and here are the ironic results they report on-line this week in the journal Psychological Science: Wearing counterfeit glasses not only fails to bolster our ego and self-image the way we hope, it actually undermines our internal sense of authenticity. “Faking it” makes us feel like phonies and cheaters on the inside, and this alienated, counterfeit “self” leads to cheating and cynicism in the real world.

Counterfeiting is a serious economic and social problem, epidemic in scale. Most people buy these fake brands because they are a lot cheaper, but this research suggests there may be a hidden moral cost yet to be tallied.

Excerpts from “We’re Only Human” also appear in The Huffington Post and Scientific American Mind. Wray Herbert’s book, On Second Thought: Outsmarting Your Mind’s Hard-Wired Habits, will be published by Crown in September.

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Most of us use the numbers 20/20 unthinkingly, basically as a synonym for good vision. We take it on faith that 20/20 is an accurate measure of some biological reality. But how straightforward is visual acuity in fact? After all, those eye charts in your optometrist’s office measure not only the sharpness of the image on your eye’s retina, but also your brain’s interpretation of that information. How much liberty does the interpreting mind take with this biological reality?

New research is beginning to focus on the psychological dimensions of vision—with some surprising results. The studies are from the Harvard University laboratory of Ellen Langer, whose books Mindfulness and Counterclockwise challenge many of our assumptions about our physical limitations—especially the limitations we associate with aging. In the new studies, Langer and her colleagues manipulated various beliefs about vision to see if mind-set can affect something as basic as eyesight.

Langer’s experiments are always innovative. In one of the vision studies, for example, she started with the widespread belief that Air Force pilots have excellent vision. That’s not an unfounded belief in fact, because 20/20 vision is a prerequisite for fighter pilot training. To exploit this belief, she recruited a group of students from MIT’s ROTC program, many of who aspire to be pilots. She tested their vision with standard eye charts, and then asked some of the volunteers to “become pilots” by flying a flight simulator. She specifically instructed them to actively imagine themselves as pilots, as they used the throttle, compass and other trappings of an actual cockpit to execute flight maneuvers. They even wore green army fatigues to enhance their role-playing.

No mention was made of vision, neither to the “pilots” nor to the controls, who merely sat in a stationary cockpit. After a short time, Langer surreptitiously measured all the volunteers’ vision. She had four aircraft “approach” from the front, each with a serial number on the wing. The volunteers were told to read the serial numbers on the four wings which, unbeknownst to them, were the equivalent of different lines on an eye chart. Langer was in effect administering the optometrist’s standard eye exam, under the guise of flight simulation.

And what did she find? Unmistakably, the “pilots” showed greater improvement in vision. Four of ten volunteers could see better after playing pilot, compared to none of the controls. Langer reran this experiment, in one case telling the controls they could motivate themselves to have better vision and in another actually giving them eye exercises. But the pilots still outperformed them. In other words, simply believing that pilots have good vision was enough to sharpen the volunteer-pilots’ eyesight.

This was obviously an elaborate experiment, and the number of volunteers was necessarily small. So Langer decided to explore the question in a completely different way. In a second experiment, she exploited the belief that athletes have good vision—again not an unreasonable assumption since vision generally enhances coordination. To test this idea, she tested the eyesight of a larger group of volunteers, then had some of them do jumping jacks, while others simply skipped around them room. She wanted all of the volunteers to be equally aroused physically, but she figured that psychologically, jumping jacks would be seen as more athletic than skipping. And indeed when she retested their eyesight, the results echoed those from the pilot study. Fully a third of the volunteers had better vision after acting athletically; only one of the skippers showed such improvement.

Now keep in mind that the volunteers did not in fact differ at all on athleticism. All that differed was their psychological mind-set, as a result of jumping or skipping. And it appeared that psychology was enough to sharpen their view of the world.

Langer ran a final experiment, this one using the actual optometrist’s eye chart—or versions of it. She wanted to test the power of two common beliefs that most of us take with us when we have our eyes examined: One, that it will be easy to read the top lines of the eye chart. And two, that it will be increasingly difficult to read the farther down the chart one reads. I think it’s fair to say that most adults share those beliefs.

But what if the chart is switched around? That’s what Langer did. She created two eye charts that looked in most ways like the standard chart, except for this: In one case, the letters became not smaller but progressively larger moving down the chart. In the other, the chart started not with the huge E, but with a line that would normally be about two-thirds of the way down. In other words, she administered eye exams that exploit fundamental assumptions about optometrists’ eye charts.

And again, psychology trumped biology. As reported on-line this week in the journal Psychological Science, the volunteers saw letters that they normally couldn’t see when the chart was shifted or reversed. They believed they would be able to read the top of the chart, and so they did—regardless of the actual font size. Taken together, these experimental results suggest that our vision may be compromised, at least in part, by our mindless beliefs.

Wray Herbert also writes regularly for the Huffington Post, where this article first appeared. His book, On Second Thought: Outsmarting Your Mind’s Hard-Wired Habits, will be published by Crown in September.

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Imagine you are a high school basketball player, and a pretty good one. You are a senior, and right now you are the starting point guard for the Rochester Eagles. Last year you started for the Lexington Cougars, in a different state, and the year before that you played the same position for yet another squad, the Flyers of Pottsville. Your family moves a lot because of your father’s work, but you’ve managed to win a spot on the local team wherever you land.

So how do you think of yourself at the moment? Do you identify yourself as a proud Rochester Eagle? Or do you think of yourself as simply a talented point guard?

Well, if you’re like most people, you think of yourself primarily as a journeyman point guard, not as a member of the Eagles—or of any local team for that matter. That’s because you’ve learned from experience that group membership doesn’t last; teams and communities are fleeting. What endures are your grit, and your leadership skill, and your fast hands. In short, you.

This example comes from the work of University of Virginia psychological scientist Shigehiro Oishi, who has for some years been studying the mental and emotional consequences of residential mobility. America is one of the most mobile societies in the world, which means that lots of people are living different versions of the itinerant hoopster’s experience. Surprisingly, psychologists have not paid much attention to this common American experience. But as Oishi’s studies are showing, mobility shapes everything from our sense of identity to our friendships—and even our happiness.

It all starts with basic sense of self. Oishi studied a large sample of American college students, some of whom had moved around a lot before college and others of whom had pretty much stayed put. When he asked these students to describe themselves—their most important attributes—the itinerants were much more likely to mention personal traits, while less mobile students were more apt to mention important group affiliations. In fact, the mobile students didn’t belong to many groups; they weren’t joiners. And this tendency weakened their overall sense of community identity.

Mobility appears to affect the nature of friendship as well, in a variety of ways. In one study, for example, college freshmen who had moved around a lot reported having more friends—as measured by their Facebook friendships—and they also added more new friends after arriving on campus. But it’s not just the size of the social networks, Oishi has found. Mobile Americans are more likely to form “duty free” relationships, without the deep sense of social obligation that characterizes traditional friendships. Duty-free friendships are based on more on shared interests and similarities of personality, rather than group membership.

So who’s happier, those who ramble or those who stay close to home? One would guess that more mobile people might be happier, since that’s why many people move—to find a new life, perhaps a better job or a safer community. But the results are more mixed than that. As Oishi describes in the journal Perspectives on Psychological Science, adults who move often for work feel they have more interesting lives and are more satisfied with their marriages and family life. But itinerant adults also report more frequent health issues, like stomach aches and shortness of breath, than do less mobile adults. It’s possible that when people pull up stakes for a better life, they overestimate the novelty and opportunity of moving, and underestimate the social disruption and its consequences.

The stomach aches and other ailments may be the tip of the iceberg. When Oishi analyzed a decade of data from 7000 adults, he found that those who moved frequently in childhood were more likely to have died during the course of the study. Perhaps unsurprisingly, introverts suffered more from the negative consequences of mobility, including increased mortality. In short, the American pattern of residential mobility may have a dark side that has yet to be fully revealed.

When the French social critic Alexis de Tocqueville traveled in U.S. in the 1830s, he was struck by Americans’ restlessness, even in the midst of their prosperity. He was also struck by the “cloud” that darkened many American faces. This sadness, he believed, was explained by the fact that Americans are constantly thinking about the good things they might be missing.

Tocqueville didn’t have the advantage of modern genetics to help him understand the paradoxical American character. Today we know that nations founded by immigrants—like the United States and Australia—have much higher rates of mobility than older nations, such as China and Germany. Population geneticists now believe that these national differences might be explained by the genetic distribution of personality traits, and indeed a cluster of novelty-seeking genes has been found in populations that have migrated long distances. It’s possible that these genes were adaptive when Americans were a migratory people. Whether or not they remain adaptive is an open question.

Versions of “We’re Only Human” appear in the Huffington Post and Scientific American Mind. Wray Herbert’s book, On Second Thought: Outsmarting Your Mind’s Hard-Wired Habits, will be published by Crown in September.

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Fast food is unhealthy.

I know, I know. Few of us need convincing of that fact any more. But as unassailable as it is, the brief against fast food has for years focused almost entirely on the food in fast food—the high fructose corn syrup and artery-busting fats and nutritional bankruptcy of burgers and French fries and soft drinks. But what about the fast in fast food?

New science is now suggesting that fast food may be doubly unhealthy—not only nutritionally damaging but psychologically detrimental as well. Indeed, the Colonel and the Golden Arches and the rest of America’s fast-food culture may be unconsciously triggering a general impatience with life that leads to wrongheaded decisions going way beyond food. In short, fast food may lead to fast and frenzied live-for-today lifestyles that may be just as unhealthy as bad cholesterol.

At least that’s the theory, which psychologists Chen-Bo Zhong and Sanford DeVoe of the University of Toronto have been exploring using an idea called behavioral priming. This is just a jargony way of saying that cues in our everyday world subliminally spark ideas, which in turn shape our behavior. The Toronto scientists wondered if symbols of our ubiquitous fast-food culture might spark thoughts of time pressures and efficiency—and cause us to act urgently and impatiently.

Here’s an example of how they tested this notion in the laboratory. They recruited a large group of volunteers to perform a computer task. The task involved an image at the center of the screen, but other images also flashed very rapidly on the periphery of the screen—so rapidly that the conscious mind could not possibly notice them. Some of the volunteers “saw” familiar fast-food logos—KFC, Taco Bell, McDonald’s, and so forth—while others simply saw neutral images.

After this priming, all the volunteers were told to read a short descriptive prose passage. Unbeknownst to them, the researchers were timing them—in order to see if the unconscious thoughts of fast food caused them to read faster. And they did. Even though they were told to take as much time as they liked, those thinking of fast food read much faster than the controls—and faster than they did without any unconscious priming. In other words, the Golden Arches and similar symbols made they feel time pressure where there was none.

Now let’s be clear. Sometimes urgency and deadlines are appropriate and needed. We read quickly when we are taking a timed exam, for example, just as we walk quickly when we need to be somewhere soon. So speed is not in itself bad. But this was like speed-reading Emily Dickinson; it doesn’t make any sense. And in fact it’s unhealthy: One measure of Type A personality is speed and impatience in leisure activities like eating and walking and reading.

These findings were intriguing, but the psychologists wanted to reexamine the question a different way. So in a second experiment, they again used fast food imagery to prime volunteers’ unconscious thoughts of time and urgency. But this time they rated the desirability of common household products, only some of which were time-saving products. For example, the volunteers might choose a four-slice toaster or a single-slice toaster; a two-in-one shampoo or a regular shampoo. And so forth. The idea was to see if those primed with fast food imagery were more likely to pick an efficient product than were the others. And that’s exactly what they found: Memories of Big Macs sparked a generalized impatience which in turn increased desire to complete household tasks as quickly as possible.

I don’t know about you, but I find this alarming. And it gets worse. In a final experiment, the scientists went far afield, testing whether our fast-food culture might actually determine whether or not we save for the future. As they explain it, saving requires delaying gratification, denying one’s needs today for a bigger payoff later on. Failure to save is impatience writ large—over the lifespan. Like the ethos of fast food, lack of financial planning is all about immediate gratification.

And the experiment’s findings were unambiguous. As reported on-line last week in the journal Psychological Science, the volunteers primed with fast-food logos were much more likely to accept a smaller amount of money now rather than wait for a larger payment in a week. In short, mere exposure to fast food symbols made people impatient in a way that could threaten their future economic security.

It’s hard not to savor the irony in these findings. Fast food was invented to save us time—to get us away from the drudgery of the kitchen so we could enjoy more leisure time. But today, the mere idea of fast food automatically triggers our unconscious sense of haste and urgency and pressure—feelings that shape not only the way we eat, but nearly every aspect of the way we live our lives, including our leisure.

Wray Herbert also writes regularly for the Huffington Post, where this article first appeared.

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Like most parents, I drilled my young kids on the importance of saying “thank you” to others. Nagged them, really. After all, words of gratitude are an important social convention, a way of letting others know you value and appreciate them and their support. Plus saying “thank you” is the right thing to do.

What I didn’t teach them—because I didn’t know it at the time—was how they themselves might benefit from saying “thank you.” An emerging body of research is now showing that genuine expressions of gratitude can be tonic not just for the recipient, but for those who are saying “thank you” as well. Indeed, being grateful—and saying so—can change the very way we think about our closest relationships.

One scientist who has been rigorously deconstructing gratitude is Nathaniel Lambert of Florida State University. In a recent study, he and several colleagues decided to explore whether the simple act of expressing thankfulness might be linked to a deeper sense of commitment and responsibility toward someone else. To find out, the psychologists recruited a large group of young men and women and gathered information on their most intimate relationships, including the frequency and manner in which they expressed their gratitude toward their partner. They also questioned them about the strength of their relationship, focusing especially on feelings of responsibility for their partner’s happiness and welfare.

They wanted to see if there was any connection between thankfulness and the quality of the partnership. And there was, clearly. Those who were more expressive of their gratitude toward their partner saw their commitment as deeper and the relationship as more mutually supportive. They also measured these perceptions six weeks later, to see if gratitude was linked to an increase in relationship quality over time. And, again, it was.

These findings are intriguing—but limited. They don’t say anything about whether expressing thanks actually leads to improved feelings about a relationship. So Lambert and his colleagues decided to run another experiment to sort this out. In this study, they actually manipulated gratitude. They had a group of volunteers deliberately increase their verbal or written expressions of thanks toward a close friend. They were instructed to “go the extra mile” in really demonstrating their feelings of gratitude. For comparison, other volunteers merely thought grateful thoughts—without expressing them—while others focused on positive memories of time together. At the end of the three weeks, they compared the volunteers’ attitudes toward their relationship.

There was no doubt about cause-and-effect this time. As reported on-line in the journal Psychological Science, those who more frequently spoke or wrote their words of thanks saw their relationship as more mutual and cooperative as a result. Importantly, merely thinking about being grateful did not improve relationships. So words count.

What’s going on here? The scientists believe that saying “thank you” sends a message not only to one’s partner but to oneself as well. It changes our self-perceptions. The very act of saying “thank you” reinforces one’s desire for a mutually supportive relationship and increases dependency, which triggers trust and in turn deepens a relationship. In this way, saying “thank you” initiates a spiral of kindness and appreciation in relationships. And what’s more, it’s not complicated.

For more insights into the quirks of human nature, visit the “Full Frontal Psychology” blog at True/Slant. Excerpts from “We’re Only Human” appear regularly in the magazine Scientific American Mind.

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