The Idiot Brain

by Dean Burnett

  The other region was Wernicke’s area, identified by Carl Wernicke, in the temporal lobe region. This was credited with language comprehension. When we understand words, their meanings and numerous interpretations, this was the doing of Wernicke’s area. This two-component set-up is a surprisingly straightforward arrangement for the brain, and indeed the language system of the brain is actually considerably more complex. But, for decades, Broca’s and Wernicke’s areas were credited with speech processing.

  To understand why, consider that these areas were identified in the nineteenth century, via studies of people who had suffered damage localised to these brain regions. Without modern technology such as scanners and computers, aspiring neuroscientists were reduced to studying unfortunate individuals with just the right sort of head injury. Not the most efficient method, but at least they weren’t inflicting these injuries on people themselves (as far as we know).

  Broca’s and Wernicke’s areas were identified because damage to them caused aphasias, which are profound disruptions to speech and understanding. Broca’s aphasia, aka expressive aphasia, means someone cannot ‘produce’ language. There’s nothing wrong with their mouth or tongue, they can still understand speech, they just can’t produce any fluid, coherent communication of their own. They may be able to utter a few relevant words, but long complex sentences are practically impossible.

  Interestingly, this aphasia is often evident when speaking, or writing. This is important. Speech is aural and conveyed via the mouth; writing is visual and uses hands and fingers, but for both to be equally impaired means a common element is disrupted, which can be only the language processing, which must be handled separately by the brain.

  Wernicke’s aphasia is essentially the opposite problem. Those afflicted don’t seem able to comprehend language. They can apparently recognise tone, inflection, timing and so on but the words themselves are meaningless. And they respond similarly, with long, complex-sounding sentences, but instead of ‘I went to the shops, bought some bread’, it’s ‘I wendle to the do the shops hops todayhayhay boughtage soughtage some read bread breed’; a combination of real and made-up words strung together with no recognisable linguistic meaning, because the brain is damaged in such a way that it cannot recognise language, so also can’t produce it.

  This aphasia also often applies to written language, and the sufferers are generally unable to recognise any problem with their speech. They think they are speaking normally, which obviously leads to serious frustration.

  These aphasias led to the theories about the importance of Broca’s and Wernicke’s areas for language and speech. However, brain-scanning technology has changed matters. Broca’s area, a frontal lobe region, is still important for processing syntax and other crucial structural details, which makes sense; manipulating complex information in real-time describes much frontal lobe activity. Wernicke’s area, however, has been effectively demoted due to data that shows the involvement of much wider areas of the temporal lobe around it in processing speech.2

  Areas such as the superior temporal gyrus, inferior frontal gyrus, middle temporal gyrus and ‘deeper’ areas of the brain including the putamen are all strongly implicated in speech processing, handling elements such as syntax, the semantic meaning of words, associated terms in memory, and so on. Many of these are near the auditory cortex, which processes how things sound, which makes sense (for once). Wernicke’s and Broca’s areas may not be as integral for language as first assumed, but they’re still involved. Damage to them still disrupts the many connections between language-processing regions, hence aphasias. But that language-processing centres are so widely spread throughout shows language to be a fundamental function of the brain, rather than something we pick up from our surroundings.

  Some argue that language is even more neurologically important. The theory of linguistic relativity claims that the language a person speaks underlies their cognitive processing and ability to perceive the world.3 For instance, if people were raised to speak a language that had no words for ‘reliable’, then they would be unable to understand or demonstrate reliability, and thus be forced to find work as an estate agent.

  This is an obviously extreme example, and it’s hard to study because you’d need to find a culture that uses a language with some important concepts missing. (There have been numerous studies into more isolated cultures that have smaller ranges of labels for colours that argue they are less able to perceive familiar colours, but these are debatable.4). Still, there are many theories about linguistic relativity, the most famous of which is the Sapir–Whorf hypothesis.*

  Some go further, claiming that changing the language someone uses can change how they think. The most prominent example of this is neuro-linguistic programming, NLP. NLP is a mishmash of psychotherapy, personal development and other behavioural approaches, and the basic premise is that language, behaviour and neurological processes are all intertwined. By altering someone’s specific use and experience of language their thinking and behaviour can be changed (hopefully for the better), like someone editing the code for a computer program to remove bugs and glitches.

  Despite its popularity and appeal, there’s little evidence to suggest that NLP actually works, putting it in the realms of pseudoscience and alternative medicine. This book is filled with examples of how the human brain does its own thing despite everything the modern world can throw at it, so it’s hardly going to fall in line when faced with a carefully chosen turn of phrase.

  However, NLP does often state that the non-verbal component of communication is very important, which is true. And non-verbal communication manifests in many different ways.

  In Oliver Sacks’s seminal 1985 book The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat,5 he describes a group of aphasia patients who cannot understand spoken language, who are watching a speech by the president and finding it hilarious, which is clearly not the intent. The explanation is that the patients, robbed of their understanding of words, have become adept at recognising non-verbal cues and signs that most people overlook, being distracted by the actual words. The president, to them, is constantly revealing that he is being dishonest via facial tics, body language, rhythm of speech, elaborate gestures and so on. These things, to an aphasia patient, are big red flags of dishonesty. When coming from the most powerful man in the world, it’s either laugh or cry.

  That such information can be gleaned non-verbally isn’t a surprise. As previously stated, the human face is an excellent communication device. Facial expressions are important: it’s easy to tell when someone is angry, happy, fearful and so on because their face takes on an associated expression revealing this, and this contributes greatly to interpersonal communication. Someone could say, ‘You shouldn’t have’, while looking happy, angry or disgusted, and the phrase would be interpreted very differently.

  Facial expressions are quite universal. Studies have been conducted where pictures of specific facial expressions have been shown to individuals from different cultures, some of which were very remote and largely untouched by Western civilisation. There is some cultural variation, but by and large everyone is able to recognise the facial expressions, regardless of their origins. It seems our facial expressions are innate, rather than learned, ‘hard-wired’ into the human brain. Someone who grew up in the deepest recesses of the Amazon jungle would pull the same expression if something surprises them as someone who’d lived their entire life in New York.

  Our brains are very adept at recognising and reading faces. Chapter 5 detailed how the visual cortex has subsections dedicated to processing faces, hence we tend to see them everywhere. So efficient is the brain in this regard that an expression can be deduced from minimal information, which is why it’s common to now use basic punctuation to convey happiness :-) sadness :-( anger >:-( surprise :-O and many more. These are just simple lines and dots. They’re not even upright. And yet we still perceive specific types of expression.

  Facial expressions may seem a limited form of
communication, but they’re extremely useful. If everyone around you has a fearful expression, your brain instantly concludes there is something nearby that everyone considers a threat, and primes itself for fight or flight. If we had to rely on someone saying, ‘I don’t want to alarm you, but there appears to be a pack of rabid hyenas heading right for us’, they’d probably be on us before the end of the sentence. Facial expressions also aid social interactions; if we’re doing something and everyone has a happy expression, we know we should keep doing it to gain approval. If everyone looks at us and appears shocked, angry, disgusted or all three, then we should stop what we’re doing rather quickly. This feedback helps guide our own behaviours.

  Studies have revealed that the amygdala is highly active when we’re reading facial expressions.6 The amygdala, responsible for processing our own emotions, is seemingly necessary for recognising emotions in others. Other regions deep in the limbic system responsible for processing specific emotions (for instance, the putamen for disgust) are also implicated.

  The link between emotions and facial expressions is strong but not insurmountable. Some people suppress or control their facial expressions so that they differ from their emotional state. The obvious example is the ‘poker face’. Professional poker players maintain neutral expressions (or inaccurate ones) in order to hide how the cards dealt impact on their chances of winning. However, there is only a limited range of possibilities when being dealt cards from a deck of 52, and poker players can brace themselves for all of them, even an unbeatable straight flush. Knowing something is coming allows the more conscious controls of facial expressions to retain dominance. However, if during the game a meteorite crashes through the roof and onto the table, it’s doubtful that any of the players could stop themselves from adopting a shocked expression.

  This is indicative of yet another conflict between the advanced and primitive areas of the brain. Facial expressions can be voluntary (controlled by the motor cortex in the cerebrum) or involuntary (controlled by the deeper regions in the limbic system). Voluntary facial expressions we adopt by choice – for example, looking enthusiastic when viewing someone’s tedious holiday photos. Involuntary expressions are produced by actual emotions. The advanced human neocortex may be capable of conveying inaccurate information (lying), but the older limbic control system is unfailingly honest, so they come into conflict quite often, because the norms of society often dictate that we don’t give our honest opinion; if a person’s new haircut repulses us, it’s not done to say so.

  Unfortunately, our brains being so sensitive to reading faces means we can often tell when someone is undergoing this internal conflict between honesty and manners (smiling through gritted teeth). Luckily, society has also deemed it impolite to point it out when someone is doing this, so a tense balance is achieved.

  Carrots and sticks

  (How the brain allows us to control others, and be controlled in turn)

  I hate car shopping. Trudging across vast forecourts, checking endless details, looking at so many vehicles you lose all interest and start wondering if you have space in your garden for a horse. Feigning awareness of cars so you do things like kick the tyres. Why? Can the tip of your shoe analyse vulcanised rubber?

  But for me, the worst part is car salesmen. I just can’t deal with them. The machismo (I’ve yet to meet a female one), the exaggerated chumminess, the ‘I’ll have to ask the manager’ tactic, the implication that they’re losing money by my even being there. All these techniques confuse and unsettle me, and I find the whole process distressing.

  That’s why I always take my dad car shopping. He revels in this sort of thing. The first time he helped me buy a car I was braced for confident negotiating, but his tactic was largely swearing at the salesmen and calling them criminals until they agreed to lower the price. Unsubtle but definitely effective.

  However, that car salesmen the world over have such established and recognisable methods suggests they do actually work. This is odd. All customers will have wildly different personalities, preferences and attention spans, so the idea that simple and familiar approaches will increase the odds of someone agreeing to hand over hard-earned cash should be ludicrous. However, there are specific behaviours that increase compliance, meaning customers agree with someone and ‘submit to their will’.

  We’ve covered how fear of social judgement causes anxiety; provocation triggers the anger system; and seeking approval can be a powerful motivator. Indeed, many emotions can be said to exist only in the context of other people: you can be angry at inanimate objects, but shame and pride require people’s judgement, and love is something that exists between two people (‘self-love’ is something else entirely). So it’s no great stretch to find that people can make others do what they want by exploiting the brain’s tendencies. Anyone whose livelihood depends on convincing other people to give them money has familiar methods for increasing customer compliance and, once again, the way the brain works is largely responsible.

  This doesn’t mean there are techniques that give you total control over someone. People are far too complex, no matter what pick-up artists would have you believe. Nonetheless, there are some scientifically recognised means for getting people to comply with your wishes.

  There’s the ‘foot-in-the-door’ technique. A friend asks to borrow money for the bus. You agree. Then they ask if they can borrow more for a sandwich. You agree again. Then they say why not go to the pub, catch up over a few drinks? As long as you’re OK to pay, they’ve not got any money, remember? You think, ‘Sure, it’s only a few drinks.’ Then it’s a few more and suddenly they’re asking to borrow money for a taxi as they’ve missed the bus, and you sigh and agree because you’ve said yes to everything else.

  If this so-called friend had said, ‘Buy me dinner and drinks and pay for me to get home in a convenient manner’, you’d have said no, because it’s a ridiculous request. But that’s exactly what you’ve done. This is the foot-in-the-door (FITD) technique, where agreeing with a small request will make you more amenable to a larger request. The requester has his ‘foot in the door’.

  FITD has several limitations, thankfully. There has to be a delay between the first and second request; if someone agrees to loan you £5, you can’t ask for £50 ten seconds later. Studies have shown FITD can work days or weeks after the initial request, but eventually the association between the first and second requests is lost.

  FITD also works better if requests are ‘prosocial’, something perceived as helpful, or doing good. Buying someone food is helpful, then loaning them money to get home is also helpful, so more likely to be a request that’s complied with. Keeping lookout while someone scrawls obscenities on their ex’s car is not good, so driving them to their ex’s house to throw a brick through their window afterwards would be refused. Deep down, people are often quite nice.

  FITD also needs consistency, for instance, loaning money, then loaning more money. Driving someone home doesn’t mean you’ll look after their pet python for a month. How are these things related? Most people don’t equate ‘give a ride in my car’ with ‘have a giant snake in my house’.

  Despite limitations, FITD is still potent. You’ve probably experienced the family member who gets you to set up a computer and ends up using you as 24/7 tech support, for instance. That’s FITD.

  A 2002 study by N. Guéguen shows it even works online.7 Students who agreed with an emailed request to open a specific file were more likely to take part in a more demanding online survey when asked. Persuasion often relies on tone, presence, body language, eye contact and so on but this study shows these aren’t necessary. The brain seems worryingly eager to agree with requests from people.

  Another approach actually exploits a request that’s been denied. Say someone asks you if they can store all their possessions in your house because they’re moving out. This is inconvenient, so you decline. Then they ask if they can instead borrow your car for the weekend to move to their stuff elsewhere. T
his is a much easier, so you agree. But letting someone use your car for a weekend is inconvenient, just less so than the original request. Now you’ve got someone using your car, and you’d never usually agree to that.

  This is the door-in-the-face technique (DITF). It sounds aggressive, but it’s the person being manipulated who is ‘slamming the door’ into the face of those making demands. But slamming a door in someone’s face (metaphorically or literally) makes you feel bad, so there’s a desire to ‘make it up’ to them, hence agreeing with smaller requests.

  DITF requests can be much closer together than FITD ones; the first request is denied, so the person hasn’t actually agreed to do anything yet. There is also evidence suggesting DITF is more potent. A 2011 study by Chan and her colleagues used FITD or DITF to compel groups of students to complete an arithmetic test.8 FITD had a 60 per cent success rate, while DITF was closer to 90 per cent! The conclusion of this study was that if you want schoolchildren to do something, use a door-in-the-face approach, which is definitely something you should phrase differently when announcing it to the general public.

  The potency and reliability of DITF may explain why it’s so often used in financial transactions. Scientists have even assessed this directly: a 2008 study by Ebster and Neumayr9 showed the DITF to be very effective when selling cheese from an Alpine hut to passers-by. (NB: Most experiments don’t take place in Alpine huts.)

  Then there’s the low-ball technique, similar to FITD in that it results from someone initially agreeing to something, but which plays out differently.

  Low-ball is where someone agrees to something (a specific price to pay, a certain amount of time to do a job, a specific word count for a document), then the other person suddenly increases the initial demand. Surprisingly, despite frustration and annoyance, most people will still agree with the increased demand. Technically, they have ample reason to refuse: it’s someone breaking an agreement for personal gain. But people invariably comply with the suddenly increased demand, as long as it’s not too excessive: if you agree £70 for a used DVD-player, you won’t still agree if suddenly costs your life savings and firstborn child.