I appreciate the intense reactions to this blog so far, and respect the lingering skepticism. (Some of the nastiness I could do without, but it wouldn't be the Internet without some tasty pot-shots). I certainly didn't expect to win over the entire crowd with a handful of short overview pieces containing little evidence and no depth. I get that smart Atlantic readers are going to scrutinize this stuff.
After three years of discussing it among friends, I also understand that this is an issue that often provokes a visceral response. We all have strong opinions about how we became who we are. We need to have these opinions--it's a part of forming an identity. After a century of genetic dogma, terms like "innate" and "gifted" are baked right into our language and thinking. I don't mean to suggest that we all believe that genes control everything. Instead, most of us believe in "nature" followed by "nurture": genes dispense various design instructions as our body is formed in utero, priming us with a certain level of intellectual, creative, and athletic potential; following this, environmental influences develop that potential to some extent or another. This is what we know to be true, and it makes perfect sense.
Well, it turns out not to work that way. But no one familiar with the new science of development expects these old beliefs to wash simply away in a few weeks or months just because a few smart-ass writers come along and say they know better.
As we try to present this stuff, there are a hundred sand traps of understandable confusion. When I argue that "innate" doesn't really exist, it may seem like I'm making the blank slate argument -- which I'm not. When I argue that talent is a process, it may seem like I'm arguing that anyone can do anything, which I'm not. When I argue that we can't really see our individual potential until we've applied extraordinary resources over many years, it may seem like I'm arguing that genetic differences don't matter -- which I'm not. When I criticize The Bell Curve, it may look like I'm an agent of the left pushing a liberal egalitarian agenda, which I'm not.*
What I am pushing is the consideration of a whole new paradigm. In doing so, I am of course just a conduit.
While their evidence is quite complex, their renewed argument is simple: "nature vs. nurture" doesn't adequately explain how we become who we are. That notion needs to be replaced.
Lead author John Spencer:
The nature-nurture debate has a pervasive influence on our lives, affecting the framework of research in child development, biology, neuroscience, personality and dozens of other fields. People have tried for centuries to shift the debate one way or the other, and it's just been a pendulum swinging back and forth. We're taking the radical position that the smarter thing is to just say 'neither' -- to throw out the debate as it has been historically framed and embrace the alternative perspective provided by developmental systems theory.**
"Developmental systems theory" is a vague mouthful, and the scientists behind these observations readily admit that they haven't yet found the most compelling new language to present their ideas to the public. But the basic idea, as I've written in previous posts, is that genes are not static; they are dynamic. Genes interact with the environment to form traits. The more closely scientists look at claims of so-called "hard-wired" behavior and abilities, the more they turn up evidence that actions and talents are formed in conjunction with the culture around them.
John Spencer again:
Researchers sometimes claim we're hard-wired for things, but when you peel through the layers of the experiments, the details matter and suddenly the evidence doesn't seem so compelling...When people say there's an innate constraint, they're making suppositions about what came before the behavior in question. Instead of acknowledging that at 12 months a lot of development has already happened and we don't exactly know what came before this particular behavior, researchers take the easy way out and conclude that there must be inborn constraints. That's the predicament scientists have gotten themselves into.
Imprinting is one of many examples reviewed by the Iowa researchers. In 1935, Viennese zoologist Konrad Lorenz famously discovered that newborn chicks whose eggs were incubated in isolation will still correctly pick the call of their mother over another animal. It seemed the perfect little proof of innate ability.
But in 1997, Gilbert Gottlieb discovered the flaw in that assumption. It turned out that when fetal chicks were deprived of the ability to make vocal sounds inside their own eggs -- that is, the ability to teach themselves what their species sounded like -- they were unable to pick the correct maternal sound from various animals.
Another famously innate quality is "dead reckoning," the ability of fish, birds, and mammals (including humans) to establish one's current location based on past locations and movement history. How could young geese know how to fly home from 100 meters without trial and error? Being a mystery with no apparent answer, the word "innate" was again used as a catch-all explanation. Then it became clear that mother geese train their gosslings' navigational skills through daily walks.
How could baby chicks find their way back to a mother without clear sight of her? It turned out that they simply reversed the directions they had taken when getting lost.
One by one, the Iowa researchers show, scientists have declared basic abilities to be explainable only by hard-wiring only to later have a slow learning process revealed under closer inspection and better tools. The consistent refrain: abilities form in conjunction with development, community, and context. Genes matter, but actual results require genetic expression in conjunction with the environment.
(One big problem with this new paradigm, explains John Spencer, "is that it's much more complicated to explain why the evidence is on shaky ground, and often the one-liner wins out over the 10-minute explanation.")
The Iowa paper also delves deeply into claims of human language innateness, including what is known as "shape-bias." "Shape bias," the authors write, "simpliﬁes the word learning situation and thereby aids vocabulary development, but it is not innate. Rather, it is the emergent product of a step-by-step cascade."
What does all of this have to do with Einstein's genius or your piano playing? Developmental systems theory tells us that, while genetic differences do matter, they cannot, on their own, determine what we become. From there, the whole idea of innate talent falls apart.
As this blog continues, you'll meet more of the scientists who are documenting and shaping these ideas. One of the things I'd like to do is bring them together as a community and give their umbrella notion a more accessible name. "Developmental genetics" is one possibility. "Environmental genetics" is another.
Suggestions are welcome.
[Thanks to Mark Blumberg, one of the University of Iowa authors and editor-in-chief of Behavioral Neuroscience.]
* I am guilty of being a liberal on most issues, and there are elements of this new paradigm that gel nicely with a liberal sensibility; but there are also some very uncomfortable moral implications to come to terms with. Every writer has biases to be sure, but self-respecting journalists don't ignore or cherry-pick information because they like its political ramifications. I didn't write Data Smog because I wanted to bring down the Internet; I didn't offer some sanguine views on new surveillance technologies because I desire a police state, and I haven't been picking and choosing genetics and intelligence studies to prop up the Obama administration.
** These John Spencer quotes are taken from an University of Iowa press release about the journal article.
Forget the Common Core, Finland’s youngsters are in charge of determining what happens in the classroom.
“The changes to kindergarten make me sick,” a veteran teacher in Arkansas recently admitted to me. “Think about what you did in first grade—that’s what my 5-year-old babies are expected to do.”
The difference between first grade and kindergarten may not seem like much, but what I remember about my first-grade experience in the mid-90s doesn’t match the kindergarten she described in her email: three and a half hours of daily literacy instruction, an hour and a half of daily math instruction, 20 minutes of daily “physical activity time” (officially banned from being called “recess”) and two 56-question standardized tests in literacy and math—on the fourth week of school.
That American friend—who teaches 20 students without an aide—has fought to integrate 30 minutes of “station time” into the literacy block, which includes “blocks, science, magnetic letters, play dough with letter stamps to practice words, books, and storytelling.” But the most controversial area of her classroom isn’t the blocks nor the stamps: Rather, it’s the “house station with dolls and toy food”—items her district tried to remove last year. The implication was clear: There’s no time for play in kindergarten anymore.
A new study finds that people today who eat and exercise the same amount as people 20 years ago are still fatter.
There’s a meme aimed at Millennial catharsis called “Old Economy Steve.” It’s a series of pictures of a late-70s teenager, who presumably is now a middle-aged man, that mocks some of the messages Millennials say they hear from older generations—and shows why they’re deeply janky. Old Economy Steve graduates and gets a job right away. Old Economy Steve “worked his way through college” because tuition was $400. And so forth.
We can now add another one to that list: Old Economy Steve ate at McDonald’s almost every day, and he still somehow had a 32-inch waist.
A study published recently in the journal Obesity Research & Clinical Practice found that it’s harder for adults today to maintain the same weight as those 20 to 30 years ago did, even at the same levels of food intake and exercise.
Even in big cities like Tokyo, small children take the subway and run errands by themselves. The reason has a lot to do with group dynamics.
It’s a common sight on Japanese mass transit: Children troop through train cars, singly or in small groups, looking for seats.
They wear knee socks, polished patent-leather shoes, and plaid jumpers, with wide-brimmed hats fastened under the chin and train passes pinned to their backpacks. The kids are as young as 6 or 7, on their way to and from school, and there is nary a guardian in sight.
A popular television show called Hajimete no Otsukai, or My First Errand, features children as young as two or three being sent out to do a task for their family. As they tentatively make their way to the greengrocer or bakery, their progress is secretly filmed by a camera crew. The show has been running for more than 25 years.
Meaning comes from the pursuit of more complex things than happiness
"It is the very pursuit of happiness that thwarts happiness."
In September 1942, Viktor Frankl, a prominent Jewish psychiatrist and neurologist in Vienna, was arrested and transported to a Nazi concentration camp with his wife and parents. Three years later, when his camp was liberated, most of his family, including his pregnant wife, had perished -- but he, prisoner number 119104, had lived. In his bestselling 1946 book, Man's Search for Meaning, which he wrote in nine days about his experiences in the camps, Frankl concluded that the difference between those who had lived and those who had died came down to one thing: Meaning, an insight he came to early in life. When he was a high school student, one of his science teachers declared to the class, "Life is nothing more than a combustion process, a process of oxidation." Frankl jumped out of his chair and responded, "Sir, if this is so, then what can be the meaning of life?"
David Hume, the Buddha, and a search for the Eastern roots of the Western Enlightenment
In2006, i was 50—and I was falling apart.
Until then, I had always known exactly who I was: an exceptionally fortunate and happy woman, full of irrational exuberance and everyday joy.
I knew who I was professionally. When I was 16, I’d discovered cognitive science and analytic philosophy, and knew at once that I wanted the tough-minded, rigorous, intellectual life they could offer me. I’d gotten my doctorate at 25 and had gone on to become a professor of psychology and philosophy at UC Berkeley.
I knew who I was personally, too. For one thing, I liked men. I was never pretty, but the heterosexual dance of attraction and flirtation had always been an important part of my life, a background thrum that brightened and sharpened all the rest. My closest friends and colleagues had all been men.
There are many Americas. There is an America of white picket fences. There is an America of towering skyscrapers. There is the America of dusty plains, cowboys, and ranches. There is an America of cliffs and beaches and sun-kissed surfers. And then there is the America just beyond these postcards, idyllic in its landscape but largely unfamiliar. It is not a land of plenty, nor opportunity, yet it is America nonetheless.
Photographer Danny Ghitis happened upon one of these regions in 2012: Dutchess County. Just a few miles north of New York City, Dutchess was once a thriving area with successful iron mining and dairy-farming industries that have long since gone. “There are small pockets of wealth exported from the big city ... and feeble attempts at small-town tourism,” Ghitis said, noting the economic divide between the western and eastern sides, the latter of which he photographed. “Mostly, the Harlem Valley exists in between the past and future.”
For some parents, the deadline for a kid's financial independence has gotten an extension.
My 22-year-old daughter, Emma, waved goodbye to her college campus last spring and walked into a job this fall. Given the still-tepid state of the economy and all the stories—in the news and from friends—about recent graduates who can’t find work, you might well imagine that my husband and I are thrilled. And we are. Sort of.
Emma’s job is a good one, and she is lucky to have it. She is an editorial assistant at a well-respected magazine. But it is the kind of job that countless millennials are landing these days: part-time, low paying, with no benefits.
So, after we spentnearly a quarter of a million dollars on her college education, one thing has become clear: Our investment in our daughter’s future is far from over.
In the name of emotional well-being, college students are increasingly demanding protection from words and ideas they don’t like. Here’s why that’s disastrous for education—and mental health.
Something strange is happening at America’s colleges and universities. A movement is arising, undirected and driven largely by students, to scrub campuses clean of words, ideas, and subjects that might cause discomfort or give offense. Last December, Jeannie Suk wrote in an online article for The New Yorker about law students asking her fellow professors at Harvard not to teach rape law—or, in one case, even use the word violate (as in “that violates the law”) lest it cause students distress. In February, Laura Kipnis, a professor at Northwestern University, wrote an essay in The Chronicle of Higher Education describing a new campus politics of sexual paranoia—and was then subjected to a long investigation after students who were offended by the article and by a tweet she’d sent filed Title IX complaints against her. In June, a professor protecting himself with a pseudonym wrote an essay for Vox describing how gingerly he now has to teach. “I’m a Liberal Professor, and My Liberal Students Terrify Me,” the headline said. A number of popular comedians, including Chris Rock, have stopped performing on college campuses (see Caitlin Flanagan’s article in this month’s issue). Jerry Seinfeld and Bill Maher have publicly condemned the oversensitivity of college students, saying too many of them can’t take a joke.
The Islamic State is no mere collection of psychopaths. It is a religious group with carefully considered beliefs, among them that it is a key agent of the coming apocalypse. Here’s what that means for its strategy—and for how to stop it.
What is the Islamic State?
Where did it come from, and what are its intentions? The simplicity of these questions can be deceiving, and few Western leaders seem to know the answers. In December, The New York Times published confidential comments by Major General Michael K. Nagata, the Special Operations commander for the United States in the Middle East, admitting that he had hardly begun figuring out the Islamic State’s appeal. “We have not defeated the idea,” he said. “We do not even understand the idea.” In the past year, President Obama has referred to the Islamic State, variously, as “not Islamic” and as al-Qaeda’s “jayvee team,” statements that reflected confusion about the group, and may have contributed to significant strategic errors.
What happens when a father, alarmed by his 13-year-old daughter's nightly workload, tries to do her homework for a week
Memorization, not rationalization. That is the advice of my 13-year-old daughter, Esmee, as I struggle to make sense of a paragraph of notes for an upcoming Earth Science test on minerals. “Minerals have crystal systems which are defined by the # of axis and the length of the axis that intersect the crystal faces.” That’s how the notes start, and they only get murkier after that. When I ask Esmee what this actually means, she gives me her homework credo.
Esmee is in the eighth grade at the NYC Lab Middle School for Collaborative Studies, a selective public school in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan. My wife and I have noticed since she started there in February of last year that she has a lot of homework. We moved from Pacific Palisades, California, where Esmee also had a great deal of homework at Paul Revere Charter Middle School in Brentwood. I have found, at both schools, that whenever I bring up the homework issue with teachers or administrators, their response is that they are required by the state to cover a certain amount of material. There are standardized tests, and everyone—students, teachers, schools—is being evaluated on those tests. I’m not interested in the debates over teaching to the test or No Child Left Behind. What I am interested in is what my daughter is doing during those nightly hours between 8 o’clock and midnight, when she finally gets to bed. During the school week, she averages three to four hours of homework a night and six and a half hours of sleep.