Cognitive Revolution

Ludwik Zamenhof was born in 1859 in a small city in Poland. His family was Jewish, and the area he grew up in also had factions of Germans, Russians, and Poles, all of whom mutually distrusted one another. During his childhood, Zamenhof developed a theory: these groups would never get along without a common, neutral language to communicate with people in the other groups. Zamenhof considered the possibility of using existing languages for this purpose—such as Latin and Greek—but decided that the cost to learn them was too high. So he invented his own.Esperanto, as Zamenhof's language came to be known, sought to take familiar Indo-European root words and cast them in a language without verb conjugations, cases, gender, or any of the elements which make a language like German or Russian so difficult to learn. He was nineteen when he first unveiled the language to the public. Zamenhof's goal was not just to create a language that was easy to learn, but to create a language that would put the different peoples of Europe on a footing of mutual disadvantage—and therefore, he hoped, equality.As far as invented languages go, Esperanto has enjoyed more success than most. You can study it on Duolingo. It's a staple of popular culture; for example, I recently saw in an episode of the TV show Billions, where it is being learned by the character Michael Wagner. But mostly, this success has been on the linguistic front. People find the language interesting. But it hasn't been especially useful as a basis for utopia.In a way, Zamenhof's Esperanto is a microcosm of the system of values more generally known as “humanism.” There are many shades of humanism, but at their core lies a belief that understanding, connection, and even mutual admiration among different kinds of people is not only possible but paramount to a meaningful life. If we could all converse with one another, understand one another—then maybe we'd stand a chance of constructing the kind of society we all want to live in.But while Esperanto embodies the aspirations of humanism, it also is emblematic of its tensions. In theory, getting people to celebrate the many ways of being human is an ideal worth striving for. In practice, it is a difficult one to achieve. When it comes to the ways of being humans, what all humans have in common is that they prefer their own.The fundamental impulse of humanism is to grapple with this tension, and it is the subject of the latest book by author Sarah Bakewell. In it, she surveys 700 years of humanist thought—with each thinker bringing a personal perspective to the shared problem of what it means to value human life and society in an abstract sense. The experience of reading Bakewell's book is to hear the echoing conversation of the ages. One of the ways of reading humanism is to see it as a means of participating in this conversation. It's a notion I think is rather beautiful.Her book is Humanly Possible: Seven Hundred Years of Humanist Freethinking, Enquiry and Hope. It's available now. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

The Person and the Situation is a book by social psychologists Lee Ross and Richard Nisbett, originally published in 1991. The argument made by Ross and Nisbett was that context matters. Human beings don't behave in a vacuum, unaffected by the circumstances of society, history, and culture. The job of the social psychologist is to understand both the person and the situation. Without a proper appreciation of the larger context, it's impossible to know what to make of any given observation about human behavior.But a limitation of the project set out by Ross and Nisbett is that social psychology has always had a limited ability to study “situations.” It is, after all, psychology—not anthropology. Psychologists tend not to study humans in their natural situations; they try to recreate paired down versions of them in the lab. It's not the same thing.This is something Ross and Nisbett, I think, appreciated. Nisbett went on to publish a book called The Geography of Thought, about how people from the West think differently from people in Asia. But another way to approach this problem is not from the psychology side, at least not directly—to start not with the person, but the situation itself. This is what I like about really good travel writing.The job of a travel writer is similar to the job of the anthropologist. It is to go to a place and get a feel for what people are up to there. Then to come back and report to the rest of us what it is you observed. But the problem with ethnographies by anthropologists is that they're usually not that fun to read, obsessed as they are with kinship structures and long-standing epistemological debates within their field. Good travel writing has the same incisive edge as an informal ethnography—and has the benefit of being much more engaging. Good travel writing is an exploration of the person via the situation.For my money, the best author doing this kind of travel writing today is Erika Fatland. Erika is the author of three travel books, including Sovietistan, about the post-Soviet states of central Asia; The Border, about the countries bordering Russia from North Korea and Mongolia to Finland and Norway; and High, about the countries of the Himalayas. She speaks six languages, including Russian, and is currently adding more. She also trained as a social anthropologist for her master's degree, which probably goes a ways toward explaining where that incisive edge came from.Erika's approach to travel writing incorporates her own travel experiences with deep readings of a country's historical, cultural, and economic circumstances. More than other travel writers I've read, she relies on her conversations with people she meets in the places she goes—usually finding at least one common tongue between them—and uses these interview as a foundation for her own observations. In this conversation, we talk about the point of travel, Erika's formative experiences and how she became a travel writer, her approach to writing, how her relationship with Russia has changed through the years, and some of her favorite (and least favorite) countries she's visited. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

Denis Dutton was a philosopher of art and media. He was born in the US but moved to New Zealand when he was 40, where he became interested in Oceanic Art. This interest led him to spend time in the village of Yentchenmangua on Papua New Guinea. Over the course of his ethnographic work, he began to get to know the locals.One day, Dutton noticed that his friends in the village seemed down. He asked why. They explained that the tourist numbers had dropped, and they were trying to figure out ways to get more people to visit. Dutton was asked if he had any ideas.He sort of shrugged, then off the cuff suggested fire-walking. The villagers had no idea what that was. Dutton explained. They asked him if he would teach them.Dutton had never done a fire-walk of his own before, but he understood the principle from his friends in New Zealand. Coal is a poor conductor of heat. So, in theory, one can scuttle across a bed of hot coals without getting burned if one moves with sufficient haste. The never day he gave it a shot. And it worked. The villagers soon adopted it as their own local ritual, even taking measures to jealously guard it from neighboring tribes. Dutton later asked them, “So what if some anthropologist visits your village in the future, inquiring about the origin of the fire-walking ritual? What are you going to say?” One of them responded: “We'll say that we've always done it this way. Our fathers did it, and their fathers before them, and ultimately our ancestors learned how to do it from a white god.”This story is from Ritual, the recent book by Dimitris Xygalatas. And I think it illustrates something crucial about the way we're used to thinking about rituals—that they're a kind of cultural excess: there for arbitrary reasons, not serving any specific purpose. Aren't all rituals like the one the villagers got from Dutton? At some point, someone just made them up, right? Rituals can seem antiquated, and us more-informed moderns are better off leaving them in the rearview mirror.But Dimitris's work shows this isn't the case. Rituals are useful for at least three separate reasons. In this conversation, we cover how research—including Dimitris's own—shows that rituals reduce anxiety, are crucial for social cohesion, and are an important source of meaning.Unlike most behavior, rituals aren't a means to an end. They aren't about achieving a goal or desired outcome. We do them for their own sake—because that's how things are done, how our forebears did them. And it is precisely this lack of immediate utility that makes them integral to meaning and identity. They separate our way of doing things from everyone else's. And, as Dimitris argues, we're probably worse off in the modern world for our willingness to shave off the trappings of life's rituals in our relentless pursuit of increased efficiency.[This interview has been edited and condensed. Full conversation available via the podcast.]So to start off with: What is a ritual? Why do they matter?If you ask 100 anthropologists, you might get 100 different definitions of ritual. As far as I'm concerned, a key aspect of ritual is that it's either gold-demoted [that is, we don't know why someone does it after it's already happened] or it is causally-opaque. And what that means is that when people perform their rituals, even the most meaningful rituals, when you ask them why, very often they don't have a ready explanation for you. They'll say, “oh, well, we just do them.”*But even when they do offer some reason for doing those rituals—let's say we perform this ritual for healing purposes—there is no causal connection between the actions undertaken and the purported outcome. So if I try to heal somebody by chanting, we don't see any physical causality between the movements of my mouth and what's going on in that person's body. So that is a key characteristic of ritual.An additional characteristic is that rituals create special spaces and special events. They sort of create the domain of the sacred. And this is what differentiates ritual, for example, from habits. So habits might be the flip side of a ritual. I take my coffee every morning, I brush my teeth twice a day, and some say this is my morning ritual when I brush my teeth. But I would say no, because this has a specific purpose to clean your teeth, and the actions you undertake are connected to that outcome. But if you were to just wave your toothbrush in the air with the belief that it will cleanse your teeth, or no belief at all, now that would be a ritual.At first glance, rituals by definition seem utterly pointless. But the fact that they are found in every human society we've ever known, and the fact that so many people around the world find them deeply meaningful, I would dare say all people find them deeply meaningful. Even if they don't realize it, if they think of religious rituals. But then when we get into other things like your wedding or your birthday celebration or a funeral you attend, all of us find meaning in ritual. So this for me was the big puzzle. When you say the word “ritual,” sometimes it feels, I don't know, maybe “antiquated” is not quite the right term—but something a primitive society would engage in. But us modern urbanites, you know, we sort of moved beyond that. We do things because they have real effects. How do you think about what it means to perform a ritual in daily life in the modern world? And perhaps what are some of the examples of rituals that you study that your average person would connect with?I think it would be tempting but misguided to think that we no longer have as many rituals as people used to have because we live in an era of technological progress and secularization.The misconception stems from the fact that because ritual has been such a successful mental and social tool for religion—to the extent that we come to think of those two things as synonymous, but they're not. Ritual predates religion and it extends far beyond religion. And I would argue that our lives today are just as ritualized as they've ever been. We have to be careful with our definitions here—but based on my definition, ritual is everywhere.In the modern world, we engage in handshakes, and we raise our glasses to attend birthday parties, and we have college graduations, and in many parts of the world we have military parades, and in our militaries we have marching and the raising of the flag and so on and so forth. There are countless examples if we look at how people behave in sports stadiums or in political rallies or at rock concerts or in their everyday life our lives are in ritual, from birth to death.So the way I see it, there's a human need for ritual. Rituals provide comfort for us, they help us soothe our anxieties, they help us connect with other people, and this need is a constant. What changes are the forms. And in fact, what you see is that the more organized religion retreats in the West perhaps today, the more people seek it in other domains, and they come up with other kinds of rituals—perhaps of the kind that you find in Burning Man or other festivals or in the area of sports or other organized institutions, even the workspace.“Those things are important in a ritual context precisely because those actions are arbitrary and have no inherent meaning. It allows them to take whatever meaning we wish.”Let's get into the mechanism here. What is it that makes ritual meaningful? What is going on there that takes this ostensibly useless activity and gives it this really fundamental sense of how we create meaning in our lives?This is a complicated answer, because the reason rituals are so successful is that they're able to trigger a whole host of psychological mechanisms.One of the ways in which rituals do things for us is that they help us soothe anxiety. And this is a very old idea that anthropologists have proposed over a century ago. For a very long time, this was simply either taken for granted or at least it went untested. But now we have evidence for it. We know, for example, from studies—including my own studies—that when we put people in a room and we stress them out, their behaviors become more ritualistic; they become more repetitive. And then when we look at what happens when they perform these behaviors, even in a decontextualized setting, when we have them engage in repetitive movements, we see that anxiety levels drop. We can see this both in their minds (their anxiety levels as being lower, they feel less stressed) and in their bodies. Their electrodermal activity decreases, their heart rate variability increases, and so on and so forth, their cortisol levels drop.We also see it in real life rituals. We've done studies in Mauritius where we measured people's stress levels as they performed rituals in a religious temple, a Hindu temple, compared to a control group, and we see that after performing those rituals, they have lower anxiety levels, both psychological and biological.How do the rituals do that? What is the mechanism?We have proposed that this is related to the way our brain works and the way our brain constantly seeks patterns in the world. Our brain makes predictions all of the time. Before I finish a sentence, you have a certain prediction in your mind about what my next sentence is going to be. When we drive, we make predictions about where every other car in our own car will be in a few seconds from now and so on and so forth. It's a very efficient cognitive architecture that I think will inevitably evolve given evolutionary potential. That's where advanced intelligence will move towards. And if we ever have true artificial intelligence, it would have to work in the same way. A byproduct of this architecture is that when we don't have the capacity, when our environment does not allow us to make successful predictions, we get very stressed. The thing we experience as stress, perhaps more than anything else, is uncertainty. And this is why you see that those domains of life that have high stakes and high uncertainty are full of virtualization. If you go to a casino, you will see that gamblers are notorious for their superstitions rituals. If you go to a sports stadium you see the same. If you go to a war zone again you see the same. And ritual provides structure, it is predictability. When I do a ritual, because I've always done it the same way. I know exactly what will happen—when and how it will happen.This gives you a sense of control of the situation. And of course this control may be illusory, but it doesn't matter. We know that it works. We know that it helps you reduce your anxiety. So this is one piece of the puzzle. Ritualization comes naturally to us and it feels good.Another related mechanisms is what we call “effort justification.” This idea refers to a whole host of different related theories, but they all make the same observation that our brain makes inferences about the value of things. And one of the cues it uses to make those inferences is how costly they are.I spent some time living with a group of people called the Anastenaria in northern Greece, and they performed fire-walking rituals. What I realized there was that the meaning for their participation in those rituals was produced through participation itself. What I mean by this is when I asked the youngsters “Why do you do this ritual?” most of them will just look at me and they say they would say things like “I felt this urge to do it” or “That's what people do around here.” When you invest so much effort into an activity, it automatically feels more meaningful. This is a fair assumption to make. Some of the best things in life come at a cost, right? You get what you pay for—in building things and so on and so forth. So our brain automatically infers value from effort. And this is why some of the things that seemingly don't have any inherent value, things like running marathons or climbing Mount Everest or performing very painful rituals or investing a lot of time week after week after week, thousands of hours—let's say memorizing the Torah or attending church—those things too create meaning for us.The first time anybody goes to a temple for the vast majority of individuals as children, it's because their parents take them. It's not because they had some kind of an epiphany. But do this long enough and it begins to become very meaningful.One last thing I will stress here is the ability of ritual to forge social connections. So that's very important to us. It creates a sense of collective identity, a sense of belonging, a sense of bonding. How does it do that? Again, through multiple mechanisms.One of those is related to what we call “phenotypic matching.” Other animals do this as well, but we also do it a lot. We make assumptions about human connections and kinship based on a variety of cues. One of those cues is similarity. We know that phenotype and genotype are closely track one another, for the most part. So people who look more like me, the more they look like me the more likely they are to be related to me. And rituals are very good at doing this. They align people's appearances. Perhaps we wear the same clothes, the same makeup. They align people's movements. We all march together. We chant together. They align people's emotional responses. We have evidence from various rituals that when people perform collective rituals, even their heart rates begin to synchronize. So they feel like one. And by doing all of those things, people feel closer to each other. It is no accident that in so many ritual contexts, participants call each other their brethren. And we talk about things like fraternities and sororities and all those things invariably have in common are ritualized behaviors. So they have a rituals recruit a host of different mechanisms to provide meaningful experiences for people.I want to talk more about effort justification. Another way of putting that is that rituals derive their meaningfulness from friction. It's the fact that they don't accomplish anything of themselves. They're not instrumental. They're not actually the thing that is getting you whatever the further reward or end that you want is.What I like about that thesis is that it's at odds, in many ways, with the way we typically think about meaning. I think a lot of us intuitively believe that there is such thing as “intrinsic meaning.” This was actually something I was talking about with Paul Bloom in one of my recent episodes. When we talk about things that we find meaningful, a lot of the time it's this small list of having kids, rewarding careers—these things that have very clear goal orientation where it's clear why you're doing them. And instead, you're kind of saying, “Hey, look, here's something that by its very nature is inane in a way.” And yet this is this crucial thing that we are taking to construct our meaningful engagement with the world. Does that sound like a fair characterization of your position?Yeah, and in fact, when you think about it, some of the things that both are the most meaningful to us and are also the very things that make us human, that really distinguish us from other animals, are precisely those kinds of things that have no inherent, no intrinsic meaning. There are things like art and music and dancing and ritual and group membership. There are things like sports fandom. It's all of those things. Those things are important in a ritual context precisely because those actions are arbitrary and have no inherent meaning. It allows them to take whatever meaning we wish.Whatever the ideology of the group is, these rituals are a very good way of reinforcing that ideology. Whatever the group itself is, those arbitrary actions allow us to distinguish this group from what other people do. Because there's an infinite array of things we could be doing in the context of a ritual. If I want to clean my hands as a utilitarian action, there are only a few ways of doing this. I can use water and soap or an antiseptic and so on and so forth. But if I conduct a purification ritual, then I can do any number of things. I can use blue paint, or I can use ashes, or I can use blood, or I can use dirt or water, and so on and so forth, or just symbolic gestures. And that means that we can choose an action that will be specific and unique to our own group. And that makes it special for us. It creates those associations with the most salient part of our identity, our group membership.I've been thinking about this a lot in the context of efficiency. A lot of times in modern life, what we're striving for is increased efficiency. And when I hear theories like yours describing, “okay, let's look at this specific instance and try and understand how we make meaning from it,” it seems like a core component of what we're doing when we find something meaningful is that we're identifying something inefficient about it. And it's almost through a kind of cognitive dissonance of saying, “well, I'm not doing this because it's the most direct way to achieve a goal. Otherwise, I would do this other thing.”It seems to me like that impulse to streamline and to make life of an increasingly efficient nature actually takes away from a lot of the fabric of meaning that you're describing in things like ritual, social connection, the ability of ritual to create, as you said earlier on, space, all those sort of things. Does that sound right to you?Well, one way to respond to this would be to flip it on its head and to say that in fact just because ritual don't have direct utility does not mean that they're less efficient. In fact sometimes they might be seen as mental shortcuts. So imagine a situation—let's take two examples, the individual level and the collective level.At the individual level, imagine that you're very stressed. You're facing a major threat, perhaps you're concerned about illness, there are things you can do to reduce your stress. You can start working on the psychological processes, perhaps you can talk to someone, you can go out for a walk, there's any number of things you can try to do. But if a ritual works, that might be the easiest way of dealing with this. If what is familiar already works, then it doesn't really matter if it's an arbitrary action as long as it works for you.In the collective context, now think of a group that is facing very high stakes. So we know from historical evidence that groups that face higher stakes—for example, the tribes that are under constant threat of warfare—they have more painful initiation rituals. Now the problem that this group needs to solve is the problem of cooperation and trust. When you're going out to war or hunting or any kind of high-stake activity, you want to have a very cohesive team made up of very trustworthy individuals who are really committed to this, to their group membership. Now the best way to find out, perhaps the best utilitarian way, is to go to war and who is a good, who is brave and who will defect and run away. But there's also another way of doing this. Some high intensity initiation rituals precisely simulate those conditions in a safe space. So what they do is that they get people to pay a high price in advance and that functions as a test of their loyalty, as a test of their commitment.. If I'm willing to go through hell week and suffer for an entire week, then I'm truly committed. If I'm willing to endure a brutal beating in order to join a gang or a fraternity, then I'm truly committed to this.And since you mentioned Paul Bloom, I'll get to an example that he gave in his previous book. He says that he described this election for a fraternity president, and there were three candidates. So the first candidate steps up in front of the fraternity and says, if I'm elected, I'll do X, Y, and Z. And the second candidate steps up and says, if I'm elected, I'll do A, B, and C. And the third one steps up, takes a piece of paper with the fraternity's insignia, and staples it to his chest.Now this is an act that has no direct function and is completely arbitrary, but by doing this—there was no better signal of loyalty and commitment and willingness and desire to be the leader of that group. And he was elected. So that's the kind of thing that rituals do. The more direct way might also be in the long run more effortful. So you could put in years of work or you could go out to war and then we can test your bravery. But there are ways of taking shortcuts and in this sense, perhaps rituals are not as wasteful as they seem.So what should we do with this information? Is the implication here that we would all be slightly better off in particular on the come up with new rituals? Is that the takeaway for you on the pragmatic front from having studied all this?Yes, I think the main takeaway from this is that the things that might appear to be irrational, if they seem to work for so many people, then they're worth investigating, exploring, and of course adopting and incorporating into our lives. It's no accident that every human society has had rituals. Now for many of us, our lives are radically different than those of our ancestors. We're more mobile. We have fluid social networks, so we're not bound by tradition as much as our ancestors were. And this can sometimes create a gap in meaning. And we see levels of depression and suicide, there are spiking around the world—anxiety levels. So these kinds of practices, if they've worked for so long, I think it's worth considering the possibility that they might work for us as well. In fact, as a researcher, I know that they do.I do see myself as a very rational person. I don't have any supernatural commitments. But I tend to see ritual as, as I said at the beginning—I see it as both predating religion and extending far beyond religion. It is not about something supernatural. If you're willing to concede that things like art and music are deeply meaningful, too, then I don't see why you wouldn't concede that the rituals too are also deeply meaningful and are also not just useful but they're a core part of leading a good and a meaningful life. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

Recently, I've been workshopping an idea. Basically, I don't believe there is such thing as an activity that is intrinsically meaningful.Sure, there are activities which people consistently endorse as meaningful pursuits: having kids, productive careers, learning a language, that sort of thing. And while there is an empirical fact about what sort of activities members of our culture consider meaningful, this is not because these activities are meaningful in some fundamental way. Rather, what this empirical fact captures is that there is a limited set of readily available cultural stories about where meaning comes from. We tend to say that's where we, personally, derive meaning from, because that's the default story about meaning our culture prescribes. In fact, anything that can be construed as meaningful—if you tell the story right.Most recently I argued this point in a piece called meaning is post-hoc, where my claim was that we can't predict ahead of time what will be meaningful and what won't. This is because stories are always told retrospectively—and meaning depends entirely on the stories we tell. In particular, I'm skeptical of the traditional psychological narrative about meaning (“here is the set of activities people tend to derive meaning from”) because whenever academics describe someone who is engaged in canonically meaningful activities, it sounds an awful lot like an abstract version of what a university professor does. I think that really underestimates the diversity of how people conceive of meaning and how devoted they are to finding it. Anthropology and sociology are full of examples along the lines of “Here's some society that we think of as very different from elite western society and yet here they are spending all this time developing sophisticated theories about their place in the world.” One of my personal favorites is The Dignity of Working Men by Michèle Lamont. In short, I believe—at least at present—that there are no intrinsically meaningful activities because you can look back on any activity and come up with a way of construing it as meaningful.In this conversation, I had the privilege of honing this idea against one of the sharpest minds in the field. Paul Bloom is a professor of psychology at Toronto, previously based at Yale. Between these institutions and his online course, he has taught introductory psychology to millions of bright young students. This course laid the foundation for his latest book, Psych: The Story of the Human Mind.Paul has thought a lot about the problem of meaning, both in this book and in his previous book, The Sweet Spot: The Pleasures of Suffering and the Search for Meaning. We approach the topic via entry points from his latest book (particularly Freud), and eventually I get around to pitching him my latest ideas. By no means do I immediately bring him around to my view. A lot of what we disagree on, I think, depends on what goes beyond the purview of psychology and what doesn't. Sometimes it's hard to know where the draw those lines.A conversation with Paul is always enlightening, and at least from my own perspective I think this conversation strikes a nice balance between drawing out some of the highlights of Paul's broad base of thinking with some of the problems I've most directly been grappling with in my own thought.Paul's latest book is Psych: The Story of the Human Mind. It's available now. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

We pay a lot of attention to our romantic relationships. Whether it's selecting a mate or maintaining one's relationship with them. Apps make millions of dollars promising to streamline this process. Hundreds of books are published every year telling us how to do it better. And don't get me wrong: long-term romantic partnerships are hard, no doubt. But that difficulty is not lost on us. Multiple industries are designed around giving us tools to help overcome it. It's something we spend a lot of effort on trying to do better.But what about friendship? We also know it's important, sure. But we don't give friendships the same treatment as our romantic relationships. There are no holidays meant to carve out time to express appreciation toward our friends. A few books are written each year about Platonic friendship, but far fewer than those about romantic relationships. And yet friendship is one of the most important aspects of our lives. In some ways, it's even more important than the handful of long-term romantic partners we'll have in our lifetime.This, at least, is the claim made in a recent book by my guest today, Robin Dunbar. Robin is a legendary figure within social and evolutionary psychology. He is perhaps best known for the idea of Dunbar's number: the number of stable, close relationships an individual can maintain is reliably right around 150. But from the broadest level, the major question of Robin's work asks, “What do our circles of friendships look like? What should they look like?”The way that I've come to think about the core of Robin's research is that we all face the same fundamental problem: limited resources. Specifically, limited time. Each of us has to choose how we're going to allocate our limited time to work, family, hobbies, exercise, friendships, and all the other activities and pursuits which we'd like to do. Often when our temporal resources become scarce, the first thing to get cut are our friendships. Friendships don't come with urgent deadlines. We know our friends—our true ones at least—will forgive us if we don't see them as often as we'd like. After all, we've both got a lot going on. What all this adds up to is that the disintegration of friendships over the course of adult life feels all but inevitable.And yet—most of what is known scientifically about friendships is not generally discussed. For example, you have probably heard of Dunbar's 150 figure. But that's not the only important number. There are layers here. Essentially, Dunbar's research shows there are concentric circles of friendships, beginning with your five most intimate friendships, then fifteen close friends, fifty good friends, 150 general friends, then 500 acquaintances, 1500 known names, and 5000 known faces. There's a mountain of evidence showing that these numbers are consistent across cultures—even with the advent of social media. In other words, there's a connection between the quantity of friends we have at any given level and the quality of relationship we should have with them. Maintaining this balancing act has huge consequences for us across all aspects of our well-being.Personally, I believe the acquisition and maintaining of friendships is one of the greatest challenges of adult life. It's especially difficult in a post-pandemic world, where we're less tied down to living in a single place and more free to work in other locations. The cost of this flexibility is increased loneliness. We find ourselves adrift from the usual social rhythms of life which we humans are used to. But unfortunately, the problem of solid friendships is one we spend almost no time trying to solve.Robin's book is Friends: Understanding the Power of our Most Important Relationships. It's out now.[This interview has been edited and condensed. Full conversation available via the podcast.]In the beginning of your book, you present your thesis on why friendship matters. A lot of the evidence you marshal has to do with some pretty convincing studies. Could you say a little bit about what those studies show, and present that argument for why friendship matters so much?One of the big surprises of the last 15, maybe 20, years has been the absolute deluge of studies—some of them short-term cross-sectional, many of them long-term studies— showing that the single best predictor of your mental health and well-being, your physical health and well-being, and even how long you live into the future is determined by one factor and one factor alone. And that's the number and quality of close friendships you have.So typically, this number would be about five people. In collaboration with a bunch of people in Denmark, we did a big study across 13 European countries. We looked at the likelihood that somebody would develop symptoms of depression in the future, and asked what factors predicted that development. What seemed to preserve you from falling prey to depression in the future was having about five close friends and family. So if you had fewer than that, you're more likely to develop symptoms of depression. And if you have more than that, you are more likely to develop symptoms of depression.But there was an alternative. And that was volunteering in a social context, or helping out in a charity shop, or being involved with helping running the scouts, or helping with flowers at your local church, or being involved with a political party—any of those kinds of things that were essentially social activities. So if you had about three of those that was as good as having about five friends, and they were kind of interchangeable. But you couldn't add them together. You couldn't have five friends and three voluntary activities, and hope to live forever—because you wouldn't.And the reason is very simple. It's the reason why having more than about five or six friends isn't really very good for you. It's that you spread yourself too thinly among these people involved in the social environments. So having a smaller number where you can really get to know the people and be engaged with them—that's what's beneficial. If you try and spread yourself too thinly, you don't create relationships of the quality that's necessary to buffer you against things like depression.One of your core ideas has to do with what you call the seven pillars of friendship. These are: having the same language, growing up in the same location, having the same educational and career experiences, having the same hobbies and interests, having the same worldview, the same sense of humor, and the same musical tastes. It's clear how these can play out in face-to-face interactions. But what does this mean for remote friendships—the kind of modern friendships we try to maintain digitally across distance?Okay, so the evidence is both good and bad. Because there's no such thing as Nirvana in the world, everything has a benefit and a drawback. The upside is that, from our work, it seems that different media of interaction—ranging from face-to-face, Zoom video calls, telephone, texts, or emails—are kind of substitutable in terms of how many friendships they allow you to maintain. Because we see exactly the same layers, with exactly the same frequencies of contact, in data from all of these environments, suggesting that they all work pretty much in the same way, and are subject to the same limitations.In other words, just because you use Facebook doesn't create the opportunity to have 1000s of friends—true friends. In your social network, yes, you can be connected to 1000s of people on Facebook. But you're connected to 1000s of people in the everyday world. Some of them we call them friends and family. Some of them we call acquaintances. Some of them we call just people we know—we don't know much about them, but they're part of our social environment. For people who have a very large number of friends on Facebook, a lot of those are in that category.But it seems that there's still something missing in terms of our satisfaction of relationships in those kinds of environments—like Facebook or Zoom—compared to those we have face-to-face. And that seems to be primarily because what's missing is touch. And we use touch constantly with our close friends and family, perhaps out to the 50-person layer of our social network. We don't go around hugging strangers usually, or anything like that. We're very circumspect in who we do it with. But for those, whom we regard as good friends, intimate friends, we do an awful lot of very casual—what's generally referred to now as soft taps and hugs, strokes, pats on the knee, perhaps around the shoulder, all these kinds of things goes on constantly if you just watch people in an informal social environment. And that seems to be very important in creating this sense of relationship quality.I sometimes say, if you want to know how somebody really feels about you, then see the way they touch you—stroke, pat, hug, whatever. This gives you a better sense of what they mean, or what you mean to them, than 1000 words that they might say to you. And that's because words are slippery things. We're very good at saying what we don't mean and making it sound extremely plausible. But it's very difficult to lie in the way you touch somebody, perhaps because it's so, so intimate. So there are those kind of drawbacks, which clearly Zoom and Facebook and anything else you can think of are never quite going to overcome. I just don't see how they can do it.You recently co-authored a paper in Nature Human Behaviour on social isolation and the brain in the pandemic era. Certainly, there was something anomalous with social life during the COVID years. But with the post-pandemic switch to remote work and outsourcing more and more of one's social interactions to online—all the drawbacks, such as lack of touch—what do you think the role of loneliness is in modern life? And how does that play out for us today?John Cacioppo, the late neuroscientist, pointed out that the feeling of loneliness act as an alarm bell. The alarm means you're not meeting enough people: get out and do something, or go find a friend. It's not very good for you to experience loneliness, because it exposes you to the risk of increasing downward spiral of depression. And that has knock-on consequences for physical illnesses, as well as mental health and well-being. So it really is kind of the signal or reminder to for you to try and do something to restore your social environment.The problem is, of course, that's not easy to do. We've suffered from a pandemic of loneliness, particularly in the 20-somethings age cohort, for the better part of 30 years now. It's really surfaced in the big cities in terms of people having their first job after leaving university. Your whole life up to that point has basically been cocooned in a ready-made social environment at school. You had a bunch of people who would make perfectly decent friends. You're used to having potential friends on demand all the time. You go to university and live in student halls or something like that—it's kind of bumpy to begin with, while you just get your feet under the table. But very quickly, you build up friendship circles, because they're there 24/7 and you're seeing a lot of them.Then suddenly you graduate. You get a job in London, New York, or Los Angeles—wherever. And you don't even know where to go to meet people. All the people at work who are the only people you meet regularly already have their sexual lives sewn up. Some of them have families, and they want to get back at five o'clock. Even the ones that don't have families, they've already got their friends and circles and the things they do on an evening with them.So we've had this tendency for the newcomers in businesses or government departments or whatever to be thrown in completely at the deep end with nowhere to go, and it's caused this pandemic of loneliness. It's not good for employees. And it's not good for employers. Everybody's been looking at this going, “We've got a problem. What are we going to do?”One solution is to make the work environment a social environment, which is what they used to be. Until perhaps 50 years ago, when new management practices came in, most big companies had their own social clubs, their tennis clubs, theatre clubs, football clubs, where people hung out after work. And that created this sense of belonging, and a sense of community. And of course, when you came new to that company, or, or business or whatever, you were thrown straight into this social environment where it was safe, everybody knew everybody else, everybody was on the same page. They all shared a lot of their seven pillars of friendship in common simply by being employees in that same environment. And it was a good place to make friends. Some Silicon Valley companies have done that in an encouraging way. But it's not the norm. We can't let it continue, this widespread loneliness. Because it's not good for business. And it's not good for individuals.I'd like to ask you about the difference between a strong romantic relationship and a strong friendship relationship. What does a romantic relationship require that friendship does not?Not a lot. In terms of emotional content, they seem to be very similar. Obviously, romantic relationships tend to have a sexual component to them—which is, by and large, absent in Platonic friendships.But there are important gender differences here, particularly with our closest friends. What you find is that women, in particular, commonly have a” best friend forever,” who's another woman, as well as the romantic partner. Occasionally, about 15% of the time, there'll be another male—a male rather than a female—but most of them typically have a best friend who is a female. The opposite is the case for guys. They will tend to have a male best friend, sometimes a female best friend. But the quality of those relationships is very, very different to the quality of best friends that you find with female “best friends forever.” They're much more casual, and they tend to have been around a lot longer. They tend to date back to kind of high school or college period. If you look at people in their mid 40s, they'll say, “Yes, I've known him since we were at school together, that's my best friend.”In contrast to these kind of best friends, Platonic friends tend to be much more recent. Best friends are more stable than both Platonic friendships and romantic partners—which tend to have a lot more turnover. So female best friendships and romantic partners, they're very fragile in that sense. They're based on deep trust, and therefore you tolerate infringements of that trust. Until it happens once too often, you've had enough and then that's it. And then you have catastrophic breakdown. Whereas in general, other kinds of friends and men's best friends tend to just drift apart.One final question. What are three books that have most influenced the way you think?Actually, I'm going to point in a slightly different direction in terms of what influenced me and offer up the following three.One is a Victorian spoof. Not too many people know about it. It's called Flatland. And it was written by a couple of guy masquerading under the pseudonym “A Square.” It is a kind of spoof on hierarchies in society. So it imagine the world consists of different kinds of dimensions. So you're a two dimensional person, and you enter into this world where one dimensional people are dots and three dimensional people are cubes—and you're trying to negotiate this strange social world. It's a reminder that your particular viewpoint or your particular culture is not necessarily the ultimate good thing. You should take other cultures at face value and enjoy them, get to know them and understand them—in the sense of how the square would have to understand the cube world or the one dimensional world.As a second book, I'm going to pick T.S. Eliot's poetry. I actually studied Eliot in high school for my high school final exams (A Levels as we call them here). I think he's just the most amazing poet who ever came our way. In many ways: mentally complex, and extremely well read, and immensely deep.As the last choice, I'm actually going to pick something I'm sure nobody's ever heard of. It's the Irish writer Brendan Behan's semi-autobiographical book called Hold Your Hour and Have Another. It just has that Irish flow and fun—that sense of fun and “life is a gas,” as the as the saying goes. It's just wonderfully well-written little vignettes on his experiences in life. Great guy: he died very young, at the age of 41. Same age actually as the other greatest poet ever, Dylan Thomas, the Welsh poet, who I might otherwise have included, because his sense of observation is absolutely extraordinary. T.S. Eliot is more internal and intellectualizing and looking at himself. Dylan Thomas's observations on the foibles of other people is just unbelievable in his way with words. It's just beautiful. It's absolutely fantastic stuff. So you get four for the price of one.Robin Dunbar, thank you so much for taking the time to talk today.You're very welcome. It's been great fun.[I hope you find something good for your next read. If you happen to find it through the above links, I get a referral fee. Thanks!] This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

One of the central themes of this show is the importance of the stories we tell about ourselves. But in focusing on the egocentric stakes of storytelling, one of the things we overlook—I certainly do—is the importance of the stories we tell about others.We make sense of life in the terms of our own experience. We conceptualize the world in a way that corresponds to what we've seen and what we understand. This allows us to tell our own story in a pretty nuanced way. But it limits us in the kind of stories we can tell about others—particularly others who, for political or cultural or social reasons, might be very different from us. We put other people into a box: and not the box that would best fit them, but rather one of the ones we have lying around which we've previously used to make sense of our own world.This is a topic I've thought about a lot in my writing, my previous choice of podcast guests, and in my academic research—but what I love about my guest today is that she, more than anyone else I know, has actually lived it. Mónica Guzmán is a journalist and Director of Storytelling at Braver Angels, America's largest grassroots organization dedicated to political depolarization. Her new book is I Never Thought of It That Way, in which she explores her own experience trying to connect people across political and social divides.In this conversation, Mónica and I cover so much: from the importance of stories in movies and TV, to our relationships with our families, to Mónica's specific tactics for understanding others. But one of the things that stood out to me is this great line she gives later in the conversation about modern life being “tired, scared, and busy.” It reminded me of the famous characterization of pre-modern life by Thomas Hobbes: nasty, brutish, and short.I think it speaks to something, it's so easy to forget: Each of us is living out our own complicated human experience. There is no one who has everything figured out, no one who has reached the point of quiescence. It's easy to see other people—particularly those with different beliefs from our own—as emblematic of some nefarious other way of life. But, when it comes down to it, there's no simple way through existence. Everyone is dealing with their own struggle. We're better off as human beings the more we can come to appreciate the process of that struggle, rather than judge its results.Mónica's book is I Never Thought of It That Way: How to Have Fearlessly Curious Conversations in Dangerously Divided Times. It's out now.Monica's choices for three books that have most influenced her:* The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho* Self-Reliance by Ralph Waldo Emerson* Midnight in Paris (the movie) This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

I collect concise definitions of the good life. There's something I really like about the idea of having a one sentence mission statement. It's a kind of mantra to check in with from time to time to make sure you're making decisions based on what really matters and not the more immediate, but also more fleeting, worries of the day. My personal favorite, which I recently referenced in a post on meaning and context, comes from the philosopher Bertrand Russell: “The good life is one inspired by love and guided by knowledge.”One of the things that I think makes for a useful good-life definition is that it puts the focus beyond oneself. One of my first Meaning Lab posts was about an idea which I called the Off-Policy Theory of Happiness, with the claim being that the most efficient way to become unhappy is to spend a lot of time really concerned with your own happiness. You need to aim at something else, something bigger. Your personal well-being—in terms of general satisfaction, at least; maybe joy, rather than happiness—will come as a by-product. And I think that element is present, perhaps in a subtle way, in the two-word definition of the good life given by my guest today. It is: “Find awe.”Dacher Keltner is a Professor of psychology at the University of California, Berkeley. His research has spanned questions about which emotions we have, why we have them, and what we do with them. His latest book is Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life. And in the introduction to it, he proposes that awe might be at the center of a life well lived.At first, I thought this might be taking things a bit too far. I mean, awe: I could certainly see it as being an interesting target of psychological study, but as epicentral to the good life? Really? As I got further into Dacher's argument, I realized there's a lot more subtlety and a lot more complexity here than I initially gave it credit for.As Dacher argues in his book, and in this conversation, awe is so important because it is the emotional component of meaning. It is what we feel when we engage in meaningful behavior. That's not to say that it's the only thing we feel, or that there's a one-to-one mapping. But they're intrinsically related.Specifically awe is a recognition of one's own smallness is the context of something much larger and more profound. As I argue in the meaning and context post referenced above, meaning can only be found by considering something—an activity, an experience, a pursuit, an object, a book, a word—in the appropriate context. It is a figure against a ground, and without proper recognition of that ground the meaning evaporates. The feeling of awe is an emotional signal that we've made that connection. I found a lot to consider in this conversation, because I tend to think about meaning not in terms of emotion but in terms of, well, thoughts. I think for anyone who is interested in meaning, there should also be an interest in Dacher's argument about awe.Dacher's new book is Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life. It's out now.At the end of each episode, I ask my guest about three books that have most influenced their thinking. Here are Dacher's picks:* The Expression of Emotions in Man and Animalsby Charles Darwin (1872)Before Dacher Keltner, before Paul Ekman—there was Charlie Darwin.* The Wind Up Bird Chronicleby Haruki Murakami (1994)Given without explanation… but maybe Murakami needs no introduction?* The Invention of Natureby Andrea Wulf (2015)Alexander von Humboldt is an underrated figure in intellectual history. Just as Romanticism is an underrated period in intellectual history.(I hope you find something good for your next read. If you happen to find it through the above links, I get a referral fee. Thanks!) This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

For many of us, life is a process of minimizing uncertainty. We spend our days trying to eliminate uncertainty from our lives. Find the right career path, the right partner, buy a house, or at least find a sense of long-term settledness. Raise a family and put our kids on track to get into the right college, so they can start the process over again finding the right career, the right partner, and so on. The implicit idea in this is that there's a point in life where we reach quiescence, where all the big problems are figured out. But here's the thing. Life doesn't work like that.Life is not a problem to solve. It cannot be terminally fixed. Something can always go wrong. There's always the next thing. And so if you're living your life, even tacitly, under the assumption that it's possible to reach this point, you are operating according to the wrong model of the world.These are themes that I've long been grappling with in my own life, and they're resonant in the work of my guest today, the author and philosopher John Kaag. Kaag is a professor of philosophy at U Mass Lowell, but he has that rare quality of someone who makes his living as academic philosopher: he lives his life as a classical philosopher. To him, ideas aren't just for arguing about it. If you're getting them right, they should tell you something—hopefully something important—about living.He's a student of the work of William James, Friedrich Nietzsche, and Henry David Thoreau. His books include American Philosophy: a love story, Hiking with Nietzsche, and Sick Souls, Healthy Minds: How William James can save your life. A theme that runs through the work of these thinkers, and by extension John's own, is how uncertainty is crucial to meaning-making. In a way, once something has become certain in our own life, it gets taken for granted. I think if we're being honest with ourselves, we can readily identify this effect: whether in a complacent relationship, or in the pursuit of material comfort, or whatever it may be. Once it's all shored up, it no longer seems something so worth striving after that you can build your life around it. It's sort of like artificial intelligence. Whatever milestone AI successfully achieves, Gary Marcus will tell you that, well, that's not what AI really is.I think there's important in the idea that uncertainty is something to embrace, not just because it's a fundamental and inescapable part of life. But because it can also itself be a source of great meaning. If that's something you're interested in being more closely in tune with, I think you'll get a lot out of this conversation.At the end of each episode, I ask my guest about three books that have most influenced their thinking. Here are John's picks:* Waldenby Henry David Thoreau (1854)One American Transcendentalist's attempt to wring meaning from everyday life.* Thus Spoke Zarathustraby Friedrich Nietzsche (1883)Nietzsche's keystone… novel? meditation? confession? about an individual who is struggling to become who he is.* Man's Search for Meaningby Viktor Frankl (1946)The most recommended book on this show. The classics are classic for a reason.* Existential Psychotherapy (Honorable mention)by Irvin Yalom (1980)The 700 page version of Man's Search for Meaning. (Never heard of it myself, but it looks really good!)Books by John:* 2020: Sick Souls, Healthy Minds: How William James Can Save Your Life* 2018: Hiking with Nietzsche: On Becoming Who You Are* 2016: American Philosophy: A Love Story(I hope you find something good for your next read. If you happen to find it through the above links, I get a referral fee. Thanks!) This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

The month before I began my PhD, in October 2019, I sat down with an idea. The concept was to reach out to people I admired—mostly academics and authors—and ask them about the decisions they made when they were in my position. What did they do when they were grad students that set them up for success later on? Sure, I wanted to know about their success, in some sort of career-prestige sense. But I also wanted to understand how they thought about what it means to make a substantive contribution to their field, whatever that may have looked like to them. I envisioned it as a podcast, which I called Cognitive Revolution.I produced about 90 episodes of Cognitive Revolution. Toward the end, I began to feel like I'd learned what I wanted to from that line of questioning. It took me a while to figure out what I wanted to do with a podcast that represented the dimension of growth I would pursue in my next phase. But eventually I came up with Meaning Lab: a cognitive science perspective on the mechanisms of meaning in work, life, and relationships. I've done about ten Meaning Lab episodes now. I feel like I'm starting to get the hang of it.But to mark my 100th podcast episode, I wanted to do a retrospective on what I learned interviewing scientists about the “personal side of their intellectual journey”—as I framed the tagline of the show. I got to talk to so many of my heroes. I got to talk to people who were great scientists, but not well known outside of their immediate discipline. I got to talk to people who were both accomplished scholars and well-known to a broader audience. I tried to talk to different people from different backgrounds, and to explore stories told by everyone from established tenured professors who came from academic families, to first gen college students from an array of backgrounds who more or less stumbled into research and found they were good at it. People were incredibly generous with their time. And I'm honored to have had the pleasure to talk with them and learn from their experience.Overall, what stands out to me is that there's no one path to success. Not in academia. Not in writing. Not in making a living from ideas. Not in, as far as I can tell, any aspect of life. For everyone I talked to who said doing X worked for them, there was another person who said they got to where they are by doing not-X. Sure, there were trends and consistencies—and I try to get at some of them in the lessons below. But the overarching point is that you have to figure out what works for you. You can't take a strategy from a successful person you look up to and apply it blindly. You're a unique individual with your own strengths and weaknesses. Your success as a scholar depends, in large part, on learning to use them to your advantage.Another point was how just about every single person I talked to—especially the big-name scholars who seem to have everything all figured out—admitted to feelings of uncertainty early on in their career. The vast, vast majority went through significant patches of their journey where they weren't sure if they were going to make it. But they stuck with it, and eventually they got to the other side. Personally, I identify with these kind of doubts more than I do the concept of “imposter syndrome.” To be honest, I don't really care if I belong right now, right here, in this room. Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. Whatever. I'm more concerned about whether what I'm doing is going to end up being worthwhile in the long run. Am I continuing to grow and get better? I can survive being bad at something now, if I know I'll be good at it later on. It meant a lot to know that when I'm feeling that burden of doubt, pretty much everyone I look up to felt some version of it when they were in my shoes.Thanks to everyone who took the time to come on my show. I learned something from every one of you. What follows are some of my favorite clips from scientists I talked to. It doesn't include segments from some of my favorite conversations in general—mostly with people who were authors than scientists. And instead of short, snappy sound bites, I opted for longer clips, so you could hear a bit more of the context and story behind the lesson. I hope you find something in here to help you on your own journey, whatever that may look like. If you're anything like me, I think you will.Here are my 12 lessons I learned from interviewing 90+ scientists about the personal side of their intellectual journey:12. There's no one right way to be productive; do what works for you. (from Paul Bloom)11. Sometimes your biggest setbacks become your most significant accomplishments. (from Chantel Prat)10. Being a good grad student is not the same thing as being a good professor. (from Nancy Kanwisher)9. Everyone has a CV of failures; but they only show you the one with the successes.(from Bradley Voytek)8. Write for an audience of smart, interested undergrads; anyone older than that is too set in their ways to truly be shaped by your work... Oh, and write from an outline.(from Michael Tomasello)7. Listening is one of the most undervalued skills in academia (and probably beyond); if you can master that, it'll take you far. (from Susan Goldin-Meadow)6. Even the most successful scholars were uncertain early on. (from Steven Pinker)5. Some of the most influential papers of all time were rejected in their first submission—rework and resubmit. (from Mark Granovetter)4. For some researchers the best part of their career will be their PhD and postdoc (because they want to get their hands dirty with the work); for some, they just need to survive that phase until they get a faculty job (because what they really want to do is run a lab). (from Weiji Ma)3. You don't need a grand plan; make the best decision you can at every juncture, and you'll get somewhere worth going. (from Linda B. Smith)2. You can be a traditional academic... or you can be an entrepreneur of knowledge.(from Wade Davis)1. Someone says you can't do it? F**k ‘em. There's no one path to success. (from Mahzarin Banaji) This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

For many of us, there are moments of realization we've had where we can't look at our lives, or what we do in them, the same way ever again. I've had many. As a cognitive scientist, one of those moments came from the realization that cognitive science—and psychology, and neuroscience—don't tell us anything about individual human lives. They tell us about humans on average. The problem is that no one lives a life on average; they live a specific one.We often hear about studies making claims like this is how people misjudge political opponents or this is how people respond to the suffering of others. Framed this way, it sounds like the scientists got people to line up, presented them with the task at hand, and they all more or less reacted to it in the way described by the headline. But that's not the case. Not even close.Those “findings” are statistical averages. Either the participants did what's being described a little bit—not so much that you'd notice it in the individual but you can find the slight trend among many people. Or a handful of the participants did what's being described enough to drown out the effect of whatever everyone else is doing. Think of it this way: If I say people, on average, are going north, then one way to support that finding is to have 50% of people go northeast and 50% of people go northwest. On average, that's what people are doing: going north. But it's not representative of the behavior of any single individual.Another way to think about this is to ask who really takes the experience of individuals seriously: and the answer (the one I give, anyway) is novelists. Those are the people who are asking questions about what would happen if we follow the consequences of one particular person's decisions really closely over the course of some significant portion of their life. Think about all the detail that's included in even the simplest novel. In any given instance, a psychology or neuroscience experiment can only examine the smallest sliver of that.As a consequence, we've been taught to think of the brain, the mind, behavior, intelligence—all these things—as a kind of monolith. There's the Platonic mind with an IQ of 500, and one day artificial intelligence will realize that kind of perfection. But in the meantime we're stuck here living our lives as imperfect approximations of that ideal. As it turns out, that's just not the case.And one of the ways we know that's not the case is through the neuroscientific work of people like my guest today, Chantel Prat. Chantel is a professor of psychology at the University of Washington. She was one of the first guests I had on this podcast, and it remains one of my favorite episodes I've ever done. In that conversation, we talk about Chantel's incredibly powerful story—with an unplanned pregnancy in grad school that changed her life for the better. The occasion for this episode is that she recently published a book, based on the work of her and her peers, called The Neuroscience of You.In it, she makes a really important argument. We've been taught to think of there being one canonical brain, one wiring diagram, one set of processes known as the human mind. But there's not. Just like there's not one human genome. While in aggregate we can look at commonalities across our species, each of us has a unique genetic fingerprint. The brain works in the same way.The big implication here is that all too often we look at our own behavior and wonder why we're not more like someone else—why we can't be as good, or as focused, or as kind, or as competent. It's easy to overlook the simplest answer: we're just different. Chantel's work shows us that these differences are fundamental. Not in a way that's unbridgeable and keeps us apart, but in a way that shows we have to appreciate others—and ourselves—for the specific things that make us us.Chantel's book is The Neuroscience of You: How Every Brain Is Different and How to Understand Yours. It's out now. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

And a minor resolution about friendship. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

My guest today is Nick Chater, a Professor of Behavioural Science at Warwick Business School. Nick is an influential cognitive scientist with a wide-range of interests, which these days often tend toward public policy. But in 2018, he published a book, trying to draw some culminating insights from the disparate pieces of his own work in cognitive science as well as the field more broadly. He came to the conclusion that we have dramatically misunderstood important aspects about what the overall picture of the mind looks like. He called the book The Mind Is Flat.And by ‘we' Nick means essentially... everyone. His argument is that the notion of the unconscious we've grown accustomed to over the last century or so is fundamentally flawed. We attribute all sorts of hidden ‘beliefs' and ‘desires' and other psychological motivations to the murky depths of the subconscious mind. But according to Chater, they aren't really there. They're fictions. There is no such thing as a ‘desire' you don't know about. According to Chater, what you see of the mind is what you get.It's a strange argument. Particularly because pretty much every modern theory in psychology and cognitive science presupposes there is some sort of cognitive infrastructure supporting beliefs, goals, and intentions below the surface of conscious thought. So what evidence does he have there are no such things as hidden beliefs? It's a good question. But another way to frame it is: what evidence do we have that makes us so confident that are minds are a kind of mental iceberg of which we can only see the very tip?That's not to say that there's no structure to the mind. But we've never seen a belief — how can we be so sure of what one would look like? I think there's a certain story about the depths of the unconscious mind that we've started to take for granted. I think it's worth taking some time to rethink that.Nick's alternative is that the mind is continuously improvising, deploying behavior to maintain consistency with an on-going narrative. Instead of simple psychological causes (“She believed x and wanted y, so she did z”), we are acting in a way to stay ‘in-character' within our own story. We are like fiction authors, not constructing behavior based on firm psychological truths, but rather seeking consistency, continuinity, and growth in the arc of our character's development. According to Nick, to say that the rest of us are acting based on some engimatic psychological depths is no more true than to say a fictional character is doing so. The story is all there is.Here's Nick's alternative model, in his own words:An improvising mind, unmoored from stable beliefs and desires, might seem to be a recipe for mental chaos. I shall argue that the opposite is true: the very task of our improvising mind is to make our thoughts and behaviour as coherent as possible — to stay ‘in character' as well as we are able. To do so, our brains must strive continually to think and act in the current moment in a way that aligns as well as possible with our prior thoughts and actions. We are like judges deciding each new legal case by refering to, and reinterpreting, an ever-growing body of previous cases. So the secret of our minds lies not in supposed hidden depths, but in our remarkable ability to creatively improvise our present, on the theme of our past.Nick introduces the concept of a mental tradition as the infrastructure of the mind. We get into it a little later on in our conversation. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what he means by the term; but I like it. It takes a well-worn concept (“habit”) and articulates it with a fresh conceptual edge. At one point, I press Nick and ask him point blank whether he thinks habits exist. He says he doesn't. I couldn't tell you the exact difference between a habit and a mental tradition. But Nick's position, as I've understood it, is that typically we believe we act according to ‘preferences'. I like coffee, so I get it first thing in the morning. No, he says. In fact, you're acting according to a mental tradition.In preparation for this conversation, I found myself thinking through Nick's improvising metaphor with my own understanding of the concept — through my training as a jazz musician. If you were to ask an improvising musician about why they chose to play a specific note, they'd be able to construct a story, supported by music theory, about why that note works in the way it does. But that's just a post-hoc story. It doesn't describe in any meaningful sense for why that particular note was produced in the first place, as opposed to any other note which could have a music theoretical justification.Yet that's not to say there's no depth. The underlying harmony does cause the note to come about in a very real sense. The musician is responding to structure. They're not acting alone. They're collaborating with the structure: the structure of the music, as well as the other musicians. That strikes me as a kind of depth, and one that has not just significance in the metaphor itself but also in our concept of the structure of the mind.So what are the stakes here? Suppose this theory is true, as Nick presents it, what might the implications be? Here's one idea:If there are no psychological depths to be found, the only psychological "truths" are the stories we tell about ourselves and others. They are "true" by virtue of the fact that we're telling them, in the same way there are truths about Anna Karenina simply because that's how Tolstoy told the story. There's something liberating about this. We're no longer committed to defending the ‘why' of our actions, at least from the perspective of a single motivating psychological variable. This is often what we reach for when trying to hold others to account. That may be necessary in the courtroom. But I think it's the source of a lot of tension in our interpersonal relationships — the need to specify what caused someone to behave in a certain way. Rather, we get to look at through a different lens. We get to say okay, this is what I've done. How does it fit into the overall story? The theory actually gives us an explanation for why the question "why did you do that?" can be the source of so much emotional violence in a relationship. There is really no answer. Therefore any answer is necessarily wrong and inadequate. And any expectation of an adequate answer is inevitably let down.At any rate, this argument by Nick makes me think of something said in a recent episode with Sam Gershman. The point of a model is not to be right. The point is to articulate the space of possibilities. I do think Nick is right that psychology—with the exception of 20th century Behaviorism—has for a long time taken for granted that there are some sort of depths to the mind. His argument is useful because it attempts to paint a clear and compelling version of the alternative. Whether or not he's onto something, I'll leave up to you. But I think part of the exercise of thinking through his position is about gaining a better understanding of what we take for granted in the conventional ways we talk about our own mental lives. Perhaps the mind isn't exactly flat, as Nick says, but I think it's say to safe that we're inclined to ascribe more depth to our minds than is merited—telling more than we can know, as Richard Nisbett called it. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

I believe when someone writes a perfect book, it deserves to sell a gazillion copies. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

One of my favorite psychology papers of all time is called “Telling More than We Can Know” by Richard Nisbett and Timothy Wilson. The argument of the paper is that humans don't actually know why they do what they do. But they're more than happy to give you an explanation nonetheless.This the reason why we need a science of human behavior. If we could all just intuit the correct answers automatically, there'd be no need for researchers to figure them out. This provides a kind of template for how psychological research works: I got the human do something, and now I'm going to tell you why they did it.And cognitive science in particular is traditionally obsessed with explaining “why” in terms of one main concept: rationality. The human did the thing because it's a reasonable thing to do, once you take into account all the right information. And if the story is not so straightforward, then the deviation from rationality cries out for explanation. It is an account of human behavior that prioritizes practical function: we have the mental apparatus we have because it helps us succeed in the situations we're most likely to find ourselves. While this may be a useful explanation for behavior in the laboratory, things get more complicated once you start observing humans in the wild. What about all the stuff that isn't explainable by mere rational utility?Why, for instance, do I prefer some clothes over others? Why do I have a little piece of leather on my keychain when it neither holds keys nor opens doors? Why did I listen to the Men in Blazers soccer podcast religiously for two years, then suddenly forsake it entirely? Why do I insist, simply our of principle, on never drinking French wine?In other words: what's the “why” behind culture?This question is the impetus for the recent book by my guest today, W David Marx. David has lived in Japan for 19 years. His first book was Ametora: How Japan Saved American Style. For most of his career he has followed and written about Japanese culture and its influence on the West. His latest book, Status and Culture, is his effort to explain the mechanisms of cultural change: why we do what we do, when we don't need to do it.He calls this the “Grand Mystery of Culture”: Why do humans collectively prefer certain practices, and then, years later, move on to alternatives for no practical reason?This is where status comes in. David argues that it's the conceptual glue that holds together the parts of human behavior that aren't explained by rationality. How exactly it does that is the subject of our conversation.But the thing about status is that you can always have more of it. If, as David argues, we're all constantly chasing after status in one way or another, when does it stop? Is anyone ever satisfied with their status? Is the biggest fish in the pond happy? Or does she just want to find a bigger pond? Does status ever give us a sense of purpose or meaning? Or is it just empty calories? We get into a lot of this throughout the conversation. Yet, for me, reading David's book raised as many questions as it answered.Status and Culture is an entry in the genre of Epic Theory. It seeks to explain everything. Doing so requires that one leaves out quite a bit, especially when the book weighs in at a svelte 275 pages of full text. But there's something about David's book which makes me really love it: It is an academic book that isn't written by an academic. Reading it, one gets the feeling that the reader is hearing from someone who has actually been out there in the world and lived a little bit. David reads. (A lot.) But it doesn't feel like he spends his days cooped up in a library. When he talks about culture, you know you're hearing from someone who has participated in it—not just theorized about it. He's not trying to explain why those other people over there are into one fashion trend and not another; he's trying to explain the fashion trends which he's seen in his own social circles.Ultimately, perhaps David, like all of us, is guilty of telling more than he can know. Do the mechanics of status really explain all of culture? I don't know. Maybe it is all about status. Maybe it's not. But I'll keep that little piece of leather on my keychain, just in case.David's new book is Status and Culture: How Our Desire for Social Rank Creates Taste, Identity, Art, Fashion, and Constant Change. It's out now.At the end of each episode, I ask my guest about three books that have most influenced their thinking. Here are David's picks:* One for All: The Logic of Group Conflictby Russell Hardin (1995)Little known but mind blowing; the theory also explains fashions really well.* The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetryby Harold Bloom (1973)Art as a process of being influenced by and attempting to influence. A classic.* For a Critique of the Political Economy of the Signby Jean Baudrillard (1972)Incisive investigation into the reason why things are valued. The denser French theory precursor to David's Status and Culture.Books by David:* 2022: Status and Culture: How Our Desire for Social Rank Creates Taste, Identity, Art, Fashion, and Constant Change* 2015: Ametora: How Japan Saved American Style(I hope you find something good for your next read. If you happen to find it through the above links, I get a referral fee. Thanks!) This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

Two competing theories of inspiration: the 9am-ers and the lions. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

Language—who can use it, and how well—has been in the news recently. If you haven't heard, a recent AI language model was released for public use. It's a chatbot from the company OpenAI called ChatGPT. And its capabilities are, to use a technical term, astounding. It can draft essays at an advanced undergraduate level on just about any topic. It can write a scene for a movie script along any premise you specify. It can plan a set of meals for you this week, provide the recipes, compile a shopping list, and tell you how what you're eating will affect your overall health and fitness goals. And in terms of grammar and sentence construction, it makes no mistakes. Literally none. This isn't your grandmother's chatbot.This episode is not about how ChatGPT works; it is about our current understanding of how language works. With advances in AI allowing us to create more sophisticated programs for using language, that understanding may change in the near future. But even with all the recent advances, the underlying logic behind how these kinds of programs work and what they can teach us about human language goes back decades in research on cognitive science and artificial intelligence. It seems like there's something about ChatGPT that understands the words it's using. The truth is we don't know yet. It's too soon to tell.What we do know is that we humans understand the words we use, and why we're capable of doing that is one of the great and fantastic puzzles of our species. My guest today, Gary Lupyan, is one of my favorite sources of insights about that puzzle. Gary is a professor of psychology at the University of Wisconsin, Madison. He studies language, particularly semantics, from a cognitive science perspective.This conversation is about Gary's point of view on language, words, and how we use them to both construct an understanding of the world and convey it to those around us. It's not necessarily about endorsing a big sweeping theory. But to put together some of the pieces of what we know, what we don't know, and what we may have misunderstood about language.For example, take the famous Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. This is the idea that language determines thought—that if you were to speak a language other than the one(s) already you do, it could potentially lead to an entirely different way of seeing the world. And really, the big picture of Sapir-Whorf has been settled. The truth, honestly, is not that exciting. Language does determine thought—but only a little, and not in any ways that can't be worked around. As Gary describes it, language is a system of categories. The language we speak can orient us toward different delineations of those categories with the world. But no language prevents us from seeing or comprehending any category outright. What's really fascinating here is not the broadest aspects of the overarching theory, but the implications for specific cases. There are versions of this that we touch on a lot throughout this conversation.But in terms of grand theories, a general theme emerged in our conversation of describing ideas about language on a spectrum: from Chomsky to Tomasello. Noam Chomsky you've probably heard of. He's one of the most prolific scholars of the second half of the twentieth century. He was a founding father of cognitive science, and to a large degree single-handedly determined the trajectory of linguistics for a period of almost thirty years. His most famous construction is "colorless green ideas sleep furiously." It's a totally legitimate English sentence, but one that expresses an illegitimate concept. It is representative of Chomsky's focus on structure: he didn't care about whether or not anyone had ever used that sentence; he just cared that it was possible to do so.Michael Tomasello, on the other hand, takes a usage-based approach to language. Mike has been a guest on this show and is another cognitive scientist who has had a big impact on my own thinking. He believes the way to make sense of language is as a tool, one that allows us to communicate with the other members of our species. Structure is important. But how language is used in real-life social settings is more important. Spoiler alert: both Gary and I are much more sympathetic to Tomasello's characterization of language than we are to Chomsky's. Nonetheless, both theoretical approaches offer important insights about language and the way we humans use it.The way I approached this conversation was essentially to ask Gary the biggest questions I could come up with about language: What's it for? How do words get their meanings? What was protolanguage like? What parts of language are determined by critical periods? Then just see where he takes it from there.Overall, this conversation was really a joy to have. We cover a lot of my favorite topics in cognitive science. Language is something I can get really worked up about, and it was fun to be able to talk about it with someone who is so much more knowledgeable than I am. For anyone who has ever used words or had words used on them, I think you'll find something to enjoy in this conversation.At the end of each episode, I ask my guest about three books that have most influenced their thinking. Here are Gary's picks:* Vehicles: Experiments in Synthetic Psychologyby Valentino Braitenberg (1984)A cult classic: the perfect book for thinking about thinking.* Consciousness Explainedby Daniel Dennett (1991)It's not about getting all the details right; it's about inspiring further thinking.* 4 3 2 1: A Novelby Paul Auster (2017)The most ambitious effort by a novelist at the top of his game. For students of the epic conceptual masterpiece.Honorable mention: My favorite book on Language, by Michael Tomasello, if you're interested in the technical details of what we talked about:* Constructing a Language: A Usage-Based Theory of Language Acquisition(I hope you find something good for your next read. If you happen to find it through the above links, I get a referral fee. Thanks!) This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

Why the metrics we use to evaluate decisions are not the ones we should use to make them. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

Right now, over the course of the next couple weeks, somewhere in the neighborhood of one billion people will tune in to the same event. This event is not a geopolitical one. Governmental regimes will not be decided based on its outcome. It is not an economic one. The winner will be financially compensated, but not in any way that will meaningfully affect the people of that country. National boundaries will not be redrawn as a result of this conflict. Ultimately, it comes down to twenty-two men, a ball, and who can put it put it in the opponents net the most times. It is the World Cup.I don't say this as someone who thinks the World Cup isn't important. I think it's fantastically important, and I count down to it every four years starting approximately three days after the final match. But many people believe that because it's a game, because it doesn't have overt real-world implications, that the World Cup doesn't matter. Some people believe that because it's a certain kind of game—one in which Europeans are usually dominant, not Americans—that it doesn't matter. But it does matter. And the reason it matters is that there's no other event in the world that quite so many people from quite so many walks of life get worked up about. An election, a TV show, the publication of a book, a Nobel Prize—none of these things can compete with the sheer volume of interest generated by the World Cup. It may be a fiction. But it is one that a large proportion of the planet has bought into.I think this dynamic is useful to pay attention to because this is also the way games work more generally. The points aren't real in any sense but the number on the scoreboard. Yet people live and die by whether their team's number is bigger than their opponent's. They dedicate a large portion of their leisure time to following the accumulation of these points. Arguably, these kind of games are what humanity, in aggregate, cares about most.This makes for a paradox of sorts. Even though they don't have meaningful stakes outside the arena, games are designed to elicit concentrated doses of meaningful engagement. When you're into a game, nothing feels like it matters quite as much as the outcome of that match. A defensible definition of a “game” is an event or set of actions which is fundamentally meaningless to which we have assigned meaning.More specifically, this is the process of gamification, and the downsides of gamification is the topic of a recent book by my guest today. Adrian Hon is a game developer, and CEO of gaming company Six to Start. Adrian's best known game is Zombies, Run! an app which incites runners to move faster by overlaying a plot of apocalyptic escape on their movements in the real-world. It has been downloaded over ten million times. Adrian's an expert on the power of gamification, and his book is all about taking a skeptical look at how gamification has infiltrated our lives.At the heart of Adrian's observations is a tension. I think of it as the double-edged sword of gamification. By assigning points to vocab learning, or tracking the number of steps you've taken every day, gamification is able to take trivial, mundane actions, which we want to engage in but don't find particularly appealing, and imbue them with meaning. This in turns gives us the motivation to accomplish those actions at a more efficient rate than we otherwise would. Where this goes wrong is when the game itself—the points system, the badges, the leaderboard—becomes more meaningful than the original reason for wanting to perform this action. When we care more about the fictional story in a way that starts taking away from the real things we actually care about, that's when gamification becomes a problem.The thrust of Adrian's book is that more and more companies are using the powerful techniques of gamification to get us to engage in their products far longer and in different ways than we might initially intend to. In other words, it's commonplace for products and apps to be designed to exploit the most vulnerable aspects of our psychology. The psychological dynamics of games are increasingly becoming a part of our every day life, and we need people like Adrian Hon to help us get a handle on how they work.Adrian's new book is You've Been Played: How Corporations, Governments, and Schools Use Games to Control Us All. It's out now.And if you still aren't convinced that games matter, just look at the World Cup. Qatar spent 220 billion dollars (they could've bought Twitter five times over!) to host it. Why? Not because they're going to recoup that money. Because it puts them right in the crosshairs of the world's attention. From Ecuador, to Japan, to Germany, to Cameroon, to Serbia, to Brazil, to even a large part of the United States—everyone will be watching. And when that many people buy into the stakes of a game, there's bound to be real-world consequences.At the end of each episode, I ask my guest about three books that have most influenced their thinking. Here are Adrian's picks:* Life: A User's Manualby Georges Perec (1978)Astonishingly good: a lesson in how to use rules to produce interesting art. * Weavers, Scribes, and Kings: A New History of the Ancient Near Eastby Amanda Podany (2022)A look at the past not from the “big” events, but from the lives of everyday people. Stories reconstructed from ancient cuneiform texts. * The Futurological Congress by Stanislaw Lem (1971)The funniest of the sci-fi writers; this book is the most insightful look at what virtual reality will ultimately look like—which is to say, crazy.Books by Adrian:* 2022: You've Been Played: How Corporations, Governments, and Schools Use Games to Control Us All* 2020: A New History of the Future in 100 Objects: A Fiction(I hope you find something good for your next read. If you happen to find it through the above links, I get a referral fee. Thanks!) This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

In a way, coming to the end of one's PhD almost feels inappropriate. The pursuit of this degree gives a kind of structure to adult life—my life, anyway—as something on the horizon to aim for but never actually reach. I've always known that getting this degree is not the final goal, just one milestone of many. But nevertheless finishing it doesn't feel like something I'm supposed to do. It is, for me, an unprecedented situation.But nonetheless here we are. Last month, I defended my dissertation. And so now I'm in the somewhat startling position of having done what I set out to do. I find myself faced with a familiar question, but one whose answer feels a lot less straightforward than it used to be. Now what?The month before I began my PhD, in October 2019, I sat down with an idea. The concept was to reach out to people I admired—mostly academics and authors—and ask them about the decisions they made when they were in my position. What did they do when they were grad students that set them up for success later on? Sure, I wanted to know about their success, in some sort of career-prestige sense. But I also wanted to understand how they thought about what it means to make a substantive contribution to their field, whatever that may have looked like to them. I envisioned it as a podcast, which I called Cognitive Revolution.People, I was surprised to learn, were incredibly generous with their time. The project didn't always go as well as I hoped. There's a lot that I could've done better, and the pandemic actually stifled my show when it seemed to bolster this kind of project for so many others. But I got to talk to many of my heroes, a lot of whom were the ones who inspired me to pursue cognitive science and social psychology in the first place.I started the project with the vague idea that it would be a useful exercise in “audience building.” It seemed like the kind of thing that was done by other authors who had taken a path like the one I envisioned for myself. It was clear to me since I was an undergrad that I cared at least as much about telling stories about research findings than actually doing the research itself. And I've always known that I wanted to write non-fiction pop-psych books as a part of my career. But I also knew that going directly into writing wasn't the right move, either. I wanted to have something to say. And I felt that developing actual expertise in a field I cared about would give me that. The Cognitive Revolution podcast allowed me the opportunity to explore the different versions of what that can look like, and how different people have constructed something resembling a coherent career from the disparate pieces of whatever they've found, in retrospect, that they'd managed to accomplish. What I thought was going to a means of building an audience was more like adding a second major to my degree. I got a lot out of it. But it was only incidental whether anyone else did as well.Somewhere along the line, though, I began to feel I was reaching a point of diminishing returns on that project. It's not that there was nothing left for me to learn. But it seemed like I had gotten all the information that I was going to get out of asking people how they went about doing whatever it was they did. I still am drawn to people's personal stories, absolutely. But the original concept of Cognitive Revolution no longer represents the dimension of growth that I see myself moving along. It's time to do something else.And so I'm starting a new project. It's a podcast; it's a blog. It's the Substack you're reading now. I call it Meaning Lab.In Meaning Lab, I'll take a cognitive science perspective on the pursuit of meaning in work, life, and relationships. Each week, I'll publish a podcast interview with an author, scientist, or academic about how their work has uncovered some interesting or unexpected aspect of meaning—where it comes from, how it works, what exactly it means to find more of it in one's daily activities. I'll also publish a weekly piece from my own perspective delving into what psychological research tells us about the mechanisms underlying how we make sense of the world and our place in it. There are, above all, two reasons I want to talk about meaning.First, I just think it's the coolest concept in all of cognitive science. The enterprise of meaning-making is the single most interesting thing that minds can do. To take one example, we humans can take arbitrary sequences of squiggles and lines and dots and use those to represent our entire experience of the world. Human language is amazing. It's something I've been interested in for a long time (for instance, my undergrad thesis was on “Computational models of jazz improvisation inspired by language”). But another example of meaning is how we reflect on our own experiences to create stories about what we've done, who we've done it with, and why it was worth doing. And meaning isn't just important for esoteric things, like the study of linguistic semantics, or more practical things, like what research says about how to get more fulfillment out of your work—but the full range of human experience, from music, to art, to ideas, to the basic infrastructure of cognition, to what brings us all together in organized society. In a very real sense, our minds are designed for meaning-making.The second reason is that I think the idea of meaning is able to give us a more nuanced vocabulary for talking about our experience of the world. This, in my estimation, is something we really need. I'm skeptical of the way we normally talk about some of the routine psychological concepts of work and life.For instance, happiness. The concept just seems very flimsy to me. As if the best of all possible lives is one in which you attain a permanent state of placid appeasement. Ice cream for every meal. It's a one-dimensional definition of what it means to be human. Feelings like heartache and profound sadness may not be especially gratifying in the moment. But they're at least as important in giving texture to the experience of a human life. The concept that reflects that much more directly, in my opinion, is not “happiness,” but meaning.Which leads me to another of the usual constructs that I think we've misunderstood: habit. So much of our discourse about work, and how to be better at it, has to do with developing an optimal habitual routine. The reason for this is that the promise of good habits is frictionless productivity. In the best case scenario, we'd be able to do the right thing without ever having to think about what exactly it is. The problem is that reliance on habit puts us on autopilot. That might be fine when you're flying a simple route. But when life requires flexibility, contemplation, or creativity, our habits—good or bad—work against us rather than for us.These are kinds of arguments and ideas I want to explore on this Substack. Eventually, I'll really be trying to do this blog/podcast as a premium product. Looking forward, I think at some point I'll do most of my posts paywalled, with the podcasts (or at least, like, the first 60 minutes of them) free. So, in the future I will be asking you to shell out some dough to support my work. For now, I want to focus on making sure the work is as high-quality as possible, as well as growing my free subscriber base before dialing in the paid content. That said, if you do want to support up front, I'd really appreciate it! This is the move I'm trying to make post-PhD, so your contribution will help me be able to solidify doing this kind of thing full-time. Even signing up for a month of paid, then cancelling makes a big difference! There's a button below, which I believe says “subscribe now” for non-subscribers and “upgrade to paid” for free subscribers—so please do feel free to use such a button however you see fit, including leaving it completely untouched.At any rate, I'm glad to have you here. I think it's gonna be a lot of fun. I'm excited. New episodes of the Meaning Lab podcast will begin next week. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

Anxiety. It is the only emotion my body believes is truly necessary for me to experience at three o’clock in the morning. To be sure I’d rather be sleeping. Usually how I respond to this experience is by listening to audiobooks or podcasts until I fall back asleep. I may get through more audiobooks that way, but it’s hard for me to look at that and imagine anxiety as anything other than a burden. I’ve recently been rethinking that relationship with anxiety.And in particular, one book has helped me start to change some of my beliefs about how anxiety works and what a healthy relationship to it might look like. That book is called Future Tense by my guest today, Tracy Dennis-Tiwary. Tracy is a professor of psychology and neuroscience at Hunter College, where she directs the Emotion Regulation Lab. She’s spent the last couple decades as a psychologist studying anxiety, particularly in clinical populations and children. In her book, Tracy argues that though anxiety is unpleasant it actually plays a crucial role in our daily lives. What exactly is the benefit of anxiety? Well, here’s how I’d put it: The majority of our emotional lives is concerned with the present moment. Our brains are designed to get what we want right now, not to delay gratification until some unknown future date. The tension here is that while our emotions tend to orient us toward the moment, so much of our progress as individuals—as a civilization—depends on doing hard work now so our future selves or generations can enjoy its benefits. Anxiety is the emotional bridge between our present selves and our future outcomes. It is the emotion that makes us care about what rewards or punishments will receive in the future and motivates us to take action now, in order to put ourselves in the best position for success later on. Without that emotional bridge, it’s a lot easier to disregard what’s going to happen in the future. Anxiety is the only part of our present selves that has a true emotional investment in how our future selves will feel. With this in mind, the appropriate relationship to have with anxiety is not to eliminate it, but to channel it. Anxiety can be incredibly motivating. And at a certain level, it’s healthy. Throughout this conversation, we talk about the give and take of anxiety—but we also talk about how this fits into a larger conversation about how we’re so often taught in modern life that what we should do is eliminate bad things. We should take the presence of bad things as a negative signal. We should be able to remove inefficiency, unhappiness, and all sorts of negative outcomes and emotions from our lives. (In my essay on Heart of Darkness, I call refer to this as “Being loyal to the nightmare of your choosing.”)But this is based on false model, an inaccurate story about how life works and what it means to be human. This is the story of anxiety that we cover in this conversation. Engaging with it and not running from it is part of the larger story of what Tracy called the “hard work of being human.”Tracy’s book is “Future Tense: Why anxiety is good for you, even though it feels bad.” It is out now. This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

My episode last week featured a conversation with author David McCraney about what it takes to change someone’s mind on a big, important topic like religion, or abortion, or guns. And the overriding conclusion of McRaney’s research on the topic was that facts alone don’t change minds. From emotions and feelings to social dynamics, beliefs are embedded in a complex web of factors that rationality alone can do little to unwind. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try. My guest this week is a two time world champion of debate. He’s coached debate for Harvard, as well as the Australian national team, and he’s currently a law student at Harvard. His name is Bo Seo, and his new book is called Good Arguments. In the book, Bo tells the story of his own trajectory through the debate world and what he’s learned about the structure of successful debate along the way. And I wanted to talk to Bo about this because debate is a kind of idealized battle of beliefs. One side gives their perspective. The other side makes the opposing case. Whichever side’s argument is more convincing is declared the winner. And it’s this kind of idealized form of debate that many of us, Bo included, envision as this core principle of a working democracy. You let two opposing sides each present the best version of their case. Then the rest of us get to decide which one to believe. But it feels less and less like these kind of good arguments are happening in our society. Sometimes they don’t even feel possible anymore.So in this conversation, I wanted to explore the mechanisms of formal debate. Why does competitive debate work the way it does? What happens if you change the formula? What might we be overlooking by trying to over-generalize the competitive debate format to the rest of society? And is debate the right model to use if our ultimate goal is changing minds? These questions are all especially worth asking to contrast with the decidedly non-debate models of mind-changing David McCraney and I had discussed last week. Bo’s book, Good Arguments, is out. Now you can find him on Twitter @HelloBoSeo or on his website helloboseo.com. If you enjoy this episode and want to stay up to date with the rest of my work, please consider subscribing to my Substack newsletter at againsthabit.com. This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

I often say that the second best thing to happen to me was deciding to become a Christian. And the first best thing was deciding not to be a Christian. I didn’t exactly grow up Christian, but I became a believer around age 12. I went to Christian school. Overall I took my religious beliefs really seriously. And to me, they felt like my own. A core part of my identity as a Christian was that I was explicit about my beliefs. I didn’t inherit them from my parents, nor did they feel like I was required to put them on for public appearances, like some sort of mandatory uniform.Since my school was religious, Christian doctrine was taught in the classroom. These students were all more or less believers as well, even if they were the mandatory uniform kind. We even had a teacher who taught us that evolution was not “just a theory” as one sometimes hears the Creationist argument framed, but a totally ludicrous idea that makes little rational sense when subjected to true unindoctrinated scrutiny.Then in college, I started to modify some beliefs, all of which traditionally are not held by Christians, but all of which I felt were compatible with a biblical world view. The first was evolution. This one was easy. Even if you believe in a literal interpretation of the Bible, if God hasn’t created the sun in the moon yet, then who’s to say that a day is only 24 hours long? These seven days of creation in Genesis could have taken place over billions of years, guided by the hand of God. So evolution was fairly easy to add into my worldview. The second was determinism. This one is also pretty easily squared with Christianity, maybe even a more conservative interpretation of the Bible. In theology, the debate is often presented as Calvinism versus Arminianism. Calvinists believe in predestination. God, being all-knowing, knows ahead of time, who is going to heaven and who isn’t. He’s God. He can’t not know. The Arminianists, by contrast, believe in free will. God, being all loving, can’t create some people just to send them to hell and therefore shields his otherwise all-knowingness from whether or not a person’s heart will turn toward him. Arminianism sounds nice, but… come on. Calvinism is clearly the more defensible theological position. So when I came to believe that free will is an illusion, it didn’t pose any issue to my faith.The third and most difficult to square was physicalism. This is the philosophical position that all physical events have physical causes. In other words, there’s nothing in the physical universe that needs some outside force to explain it. In particular, there is no immaterial soul that explains the essence of human behavior.Whenever I told Christians about this belief, they were usually taken aback. But what about resurrection? How would that work without an immaterial soul — if we were all just atoms, cells, and chemistry? To which I would usually reply that the logistics of resurrection were indeed mysterious under physicalist assumptions, but it was no less mysterious than dualistic assumptions. Just less familiar. For instance, how does an immaterial soul for which there is no evidence of interaction with the human brain and is not necessary for a complete explanation of human behavior, contain the essence of a person in any meaningful way? How for that matter would such a soul migrate from our own physical universe into some alternate universe of heaven, or hell, while still retaining some resemblance to the essence of its original host? It may have been a nonstandard belief, but I didn’t view it as one that created new problems, just reframed old ones.And so for a while, I held onto these three additional beliefs, as well as my belief in the core tenets of biblical Christianity about Jesus being our savior. The change in beliefs themselves was not enough for me to disregard Christianity as a whole. There was another piece that was necessary. I’d always been a part of Christian groups, and throughout high school that association was pretty strong. But in college, the Christian group I joined never quite seemed to click for me. I spent a lot of time with the people in the group. I even lived on an apartment floor where everyone was a member of this group, but I always felt like I was on the outside. In fact, on a one on one level, I felt much more connected to my friends who weren’t believers.The main exception was my girlfriend at the time who was herself close to everyone in that inner circle. Then one day she broke up with me. The reason cited was insufficient Jesus-mindedness, which really offended me at the time, because I considered myself very Jesus-minded. But it was my first major breakup and it hit me really hard. I found it difficult to let go. On two separate occasions I asked her to take me back (and I doubt her version of the story employs the verb ‘ask’ in quite the same manner). But eventually it became clear we were not getting back together. That was January 21st, 2013. I remember that date because it was the day I decided I would no longer be a Christian.I officially disbelieved in the Jesus narrative that I’d held as a defining core belief for so many years. At the time I figured that even if I was going to be a Christian in the long run, I’d be a more effective one knowing what it was truly like to live life as an unbeliever. Either way, it was time to take these new philosophical perspectives I had adopted as my central beliefs, rather than the teachings of the Bible.The thing that stands out to me about that story looking back was that it wasn’t the intellectual change that ultimately flipped my religious belief. It was the social change. Most people I grew up with who remained Christian — their friends are all Christian, their parents and siblings are Christian. There’s a huge social cost to altering that belief. But after my breakup, I found myself no longer having to face that social cost. I had removed the social barriers, and I could make the decision based on my own intellectual conclusions. From this experience, I learned that, in general, people don’t form their beliefs for intellectual reasons. They form them for social reasons. And that is one of the central themes of the latest book from my guest today, David McRaney. It is called How Minds Change. In it, David looks at the cutting scientific edge in the field of psychology as it relates to belief change. He follows some stories of belief change much more dramatic than my own. For example, ex members of the Westboro Baptist church and formerly prominent conspiracy theorists. The book was a ton of fun to read and I highly recommend checking it out. Even as someone who reads quite a bit of non-fiction on cognitive and social psychology, there was a lot in there that I hadn’t encountered before and a handful of reframings which really put old subjects into new light for me. This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

Earlier this week, my colleague Adam Mastroianni published an essay on what he called "cultural oligopoly." An increasingly smaller number of artists create an increasingly larger percentage of what we watch, read, and listen to. Mastroianni presents data showing that through the year 2000 only about twenty-five percent of a single year's highest grossing movies were spinoffs, franchises, or sequels. Now it's somewhere in the neighborhood of 75%. He has similar data for hit TV shows, books, and music. Why is this happening?My guest today is Nick Seaver, who is a cultural anthropologist at Tufts University. And for the last decade or so, Nick has studied the social processes underlying the creation of music recommender systems, which form the algorithmic basis for companies like Spotify and Pandora. I've admired Nick's work for a long time. And as an anthropologist, he is interested not necessarily in the nitty gritty details of how these algorithms are constructed, but rather in who is constructing them and what these people believe they are doing when they make decisions about how the algorithms ought to work.The core of Nick's work centers around taste, and how these companies and their algorithms subtly shape not only what we consume, but what we like. When Nick started this line of work in the early 2010s, it really wasn't clear how big of an impact these recommender systems would have on our society. Now, his expertise gives an evermore incisive look at the central themes of many large societal conversations around the content we consume and our everyday digital existence. But I came into this conversation with Mastroianni's question at the top of my mind, and I think Nick's research can give a crucial insight, at least into one piece of the puzzle.One of Nick's papers relates an ethnographic study of music recommender system engineers. In the interest of protecting the identity of his informants, he gives the company a fictional name, but it bears conspicuous resemblance to Spotify. As a naive observer, one might think that the way these engineers think about their audience is in terms of demography: this kind of person likes this kind of music. If they can figure out the kind of person you are, they can recommend music that you'll probably like. But that turns out not to be the dimension of largest variance.Instead, Nick introduces the concept of “avidity.” Essentially, how much effort is a listener willing to put in to find new music? This turns out to be the first distinction that these engineers make between listeners. And it forms a pyramid. On the bottom you have what one of his informants called the “musically indifferent.” This makes up the majority of listeners. Their ideal listening experience is “lean-back.” They want to press play, then leave the whole thing alone. It is a passive listening experience — no skipping songs, no wondering what other tracks might be on the album. From there, it goes from “casual” and “engaged” listeners to the top of the pyramid, which is “musical savant.” These are “lean-in” listeners who are taking an active role in discovering new and different kinds of music.“The challenge,” Nick writes, “is that all of these listeners wanted different things out of a recommender system.” Quoting one of his informants, codename Peter, he says: “in any of these four sectors, it's a different ball game in how you want to engage them.” As Nick summarizes it: “what worked for one group might fail for another.”Nick continues here: "as Peter explained to me, lean-back listeners represented the bulk of the potential market for music recommendation in spite of their relatively low status in the pyramid. There were more of them. They were more in need of the kind of assistance recommenders could offer and successfully capturing them could make 'the big bucks' for a company."Nick relates the slightly more forthcoming perspective of another engineer, codename Oliver: "it's hard to recommend shitty music to people who want shitty music," he said, expressing the burden of a music recommendation developer caught between two competing evaluative schemes: his own idea about what makes good music and what he recognizes as the proper criteria for evaluating a recommender system.In the course of our conversation, Nick and I cover not only his studies of music recommender systems, but also his more recent studies taking an anthropological approach to attention. We tend to think of attention as this highly individualized process. For example, of gazing into the screen of your phone or turning your head to identify the source of an unexpected noise. But attention is also a social and cultural process. We attend collectively to certain stories, certain memes, certain ideas. What exactly the connection is between these two forms of attention is not obvious. And Nick's current line of work is an attempt to draw it out.But the larger theme here is that music recommender systems are one battle in the larger war for our collective attention. What Spotify, Netflix, and Twitter all have in common is that their success is proportional to the extent to which they can dominate our attention. This is known in Silicon Valley as the idea of "persuasive technology." And one way to begin to understand the origins of cultural oligopolies starts with Nick's observation about avidity. The vast majority of listeners or viewers tend to go with the default option with which they're presented. Another way of putting it is that their preferred mode is habitual autopilot.While recommender systems make up just one part of this content ecosystem. This principle remains stable across its many different layers. The more we go with our habitual default options, the more control these platforms have over us. The more we rely on these companies to define our tastes for us, the more homogenous our tastes will become.Nick's forthcoming book is “Computing Taste.” It comes out in December 2022. Keep an eye out for it. And if you enjoy this episode, you can subscribe to my Substack newsletter at againsthabit.com or leave a five star review on iTunes.Thank you for listening. Here is Nick Seaver.Cody: One of your current areas of interest is attention. And while I think this is a topic that is a pillar of how we understand our own modern lives and definitely has a long history of study in fields like psychology, it's not really something that anthropologists have covered as much in a direct way. So I'm curious to get your current perspective on why people talk about attention so much, what this word might really mean, and what an anthropological take on it might show us.[00:07:46] Nick: Yeah. My interest in attention stemmed from the earlier work that I did, sort of my PhD dissertation project and first book, which was about the developers of music recommender systems. And one of the things you realize if you, you know, study recommender systems at all, is that people are really interested in attention.They're interested in ways that you measure — how you measure if someone is listening to some music, what they like on the basis of their listening habits, your interest in trying to encourage them to listen more, to do all this stuff with their attention. And that was going to lurking in the background for me for a long time.So when I had a chance to design a new seminar to teach at Tufts for our anthropology undergraduates I thought, you know, okay, I want to learn more about attention and try to find stuff about it. So I proposed a course, which I called "how to pay attention," uh, which was a little bit of a click baity title. We don't really do attention hacks or anything. And it was a chance for me to read really broadly across media studies about across history, across psychology, cognitive science, uh, and some anthropology art history and so on to think about like, what is this thing? Like, what's this, this concept that seems so important for the way that people describe anything in the world now.And as an anthropologist, I was, uh, struck by that because, you know, when you find a concept that does so much work for people, it's — I would argue it's hard to find one that is doing more work in the present moment than attention — you know you've got something culturally rich. But a lot of the ways we talk about attention in public, the kind of popular discourse around attention is very narrow. It's very individualizing. It's very sort of a thing that happens in individual brains.So the line I like to give, uh, is that, you know, the question is: what would it look like to take an anthropological approach to attention? Well, it would look like putting attention in a social context and in a cultural context.And my thumbnail definitions of those are, you know, society is this sort of world of relationships and roles in which people live. It's where you have bosses and spouses and professors and students and pets and doctors and sheriffs and all these other kinds of roles that people occupy. And we clearly pay attention within those social structures, right? We pay attention to the same things as each other. If I'm sitting in a classroom with students, they're paying attention to me and each other in certain ways that are governed by our social roles and relationships. And we also pay attention in a cultural context, which means we pay attention in a world where we value certain things, sort of arbitrarily where we make associations between certain kinds of entities and other entities.So we might say, oh, let's, you know, focus our attention over here. And we talk about our attention as though it's a kind of lens or an optical instrument, or we'll talk about attention as being like a filter, right? We have information overload because there's not enough filtering happening between information and the world in our heads.So these are all cultural phenomenon. There's nothing intrinsically attention-like about them. And to my mind studying how people make sense of attention in the present moment in these cultural contexts, uh, is just a fascinating question. So that's the sort of how I got into it and where I think an anthropological approach is different from the sort of stereotypical psychological approach.Not that all psychologists are like this, um, but you know, the stereotypical psychology approach would be, let's do experiments with reaction times and individual people, you know, in a lab setting. And that's not really what I'm interested in. I'm really interested in the fact that people talk about attention all the time and they use it to explain all sorts of things and they think that it's really important.[00:11:12] Cody: There's definitely a trope in psychology that whatever you are studying. Whether it's memory or visual search or whatever it is, you can kind of at always some point just boil it down to, you know, some explanation: Oh, well this is what the person is attending to. This is, this is what their attention is focused on. But it's not actually — it's often kind of just a hand-waving way of, of saying, oh, well, yeah, it's what they're concentrating on without having, having any specific idea of what that really means. So I'm kind of curious what, what does putting the idea of attention in a social and cultural context — what do you think we've misunderstood about attention by individualizing and overlooking those social and cultural contexts?[00:12:01] Nick: I would say one thing is to note that there are lots of folks working in the sort of intersection of philosophy and cognitive science who are very interested in that kind of circularity of, uh, of explanation that you just described. Right. That are like: wait a minute, what does attention mean then? One of the ones that I am familiar with her work — Carolyn Dicey Jennings is one such philosopher who works in close collaboration with cognitive scientists and is sort of interested in offering a philosophically rigorous account of attention that isn't just like the thing that you point to when you've given up on giving explanations.But one reason I love reading and cognitive science around this is that you've started to realize that it seems really obvious what attention is. And of course, the famous line that everyone has to quote in all of their articles and books seems to be from William James, the godfather of American psychology who says everyone knows what attention is.And then gives you the sort of basic definition of, you know, it's when you, uh, focus on something and sort of don't focus on other things. But of course, when you push on attention, it's not really clear what it is. And it's sort of a grab bag concept that pulls together all sorts of stuff, right? It includes your ability to focus for a long time or so your sort of endurance. It includes vigilance, right? It includes the sheer sort of, uh, arousal state. Like if you're really sleepy, you're maybe not as attentive. It also includes that basic filtering capacity, the ability to, you know, in a crowded room, to listen to the person who's talking to me, instead of hearing all of the other stuff that's happening. There's all these things that you may not necessarily want to, or need to combine into a single concept.But there's not really internal coherence there. But while that's sort of a problem for psychologists, they right. They say we want to be studying one thing. We don't want to be accidentally mixing a bunch of different references. It's really normal in a cultural context, right? For any given symbol, say attention as a symbol here, to mean lots of different things and to be specifically a way to sort of draw together a bunch of different discourses in one place.So to my mind, that got me thinking, well, you know, attention just is a cultural phenomenon, just like as a defined thing. Like the fact that we think of, uh, you know, a first grader's ability to sit in their chair in the classroom for a long time, we think of that as being the same thing as my ability to, you know, listen to you and not just have my mind wander off to some other thing, while we're talking — those don't have to be the same as each other. And yet we think of them as being totally connected to each other.Another example I like to give often to talk about the sort of various layers at which attention works — in the way that, you know, in sort of common usage — has to do with Donald Trump, which is not the most fun example but there was a lot of attentional discourse around Trump, which ranged from when he was elected this sense of like, oh, you know, the press was not paying attention to the right people. This was a surprise to some people because there was not collective attention to the right parts of society. There was not an awareness that was happening.So there's an attention that's not an individual's attention, right? That's like everybody's attention. But what is that? That's not the same thing as what happens in the brain.All of those things tangled together through this weirdo concept that nobody seems to really question. We really take it for granted as like an obvious, important thing.[00:15:10] Cody: You mentioned in one of your papers, this metaphor that I'm really interested in. And it's that the way we usually talk about attention is in terms of "paying" attention, which is based in an economic metaphor. and certainly I hear a lot of people talking about like, "okay, well your most valuable asset is your time. No, no, no. Actually wait, that's just the convention. Really, your most valuable asset is your attention, which is kind of this cycle, psychological function of time." But anyway, that's kind of how we normally talk about attention, but you propose this idea that actually the sort of verb there should be "doing" attention as in some sort of action forward notion of what it means to attend.So can you say a little bit more about what that means?[00:16:00] Nick: Clearly the economic metaphor is in many ways the dominant attentional metaphor at the moment. Of course, there's a sense of paying attention. And there's also this idea that we live in an attention economy, right. And the classic explanation for what that means is from Herbert Simon, who is a sort of cognitive scientist, political scientist, economist, et cetera, working in the sort of late post-war period in the United States where he says, you know, you might say we live in an information economy. But that's not really true because we have tons of information. Information is not scarce, but information consumes attention. And therefore attention is the scarce resource. And if economics is the study of how to allocate scarce resources, that means that attention is the thing that is being economized.That's not an argument we have to agree with necessarily, but that's the sort of groundwork for thinking about how attention itself might be an economic kind of thing and how it's become really, really natural I think for lots of people across all sorts of political orientations and disciplinary affiliations to think of their attention as being really like naturally economic, right? We might question all sorts of applications of economic logics to other domains, but attention is a hard nut to crack. It really feels like, you know, sure, we don't like this way that people like try to economize every last part of our lives, but attention isn't that just, you know, you have a limited amount of it. You have a limited amount of time. What else can you, can you have? And so I think one of the things you're pointing to in your, in your question, is this history in the social sciences have a real skepticism around the role of money in society.So the classic spot for this is Georg Simmel, the sociologist writing around the turn of the 20th century, who gives what my PhD advisor used to call the money as acid hypothesis, which was this argument that when you introduce sort of money and, and, you know, uh, assigning prices to things into domains where it didn't exist before, it tends to reduce everything to the monetary as like a lowest common denominator. Right?You start to think of everything in terms of how much it's worth. And that feels not great in a lot of domains. It allows some people to do some things very strategically. Um, but generally we, we take that as a sort of sad, sad thing that money has to sort of dissolve some of the richness of social interaction.Um, and it becomes sort of the, you know, the basis for everything. It's the source of the phrase, you know, time is money, right? This idea of time is money. That's why it's important. But when you're pointing at is now we've got a kind of shift in the way that that discourse happens, right? It's not really the case that time is money. It's more, that money lets you buy time. And some people are suggesting that the basic thing, the sort of most fundamental value thing is your time or maybe your attention.And that is so interesting to me because now we've got the attention as acid hypothesis, which is that attention and this sort of an accountant, any kind of social life in terms of how much attention we're paying to what, um, it becomes the, the framework in which basically anything, uh, can be, can be expressed — in an almost, it feels more fundamental than money to some people, right? It feels more essential. If money is an arbitrary and position, attention is just the real thing.And as anthropologist, my interest is not so much in deciding whether that's true or not. But in cataloging and noting the way that that works, the way that people talk about it, because it's something that's pretty emergent at the moment. But it's not quite obvious to folks like what, what it's going to mean. Like what's going to happen, as people take this more and more seriously.[00:19:32] Cody: So, as you alluded to at the beginning, attention is kind of this big, big topic that we all understand is this governing force in our lives. We're not really sure what it is in either a colloquial sense or a professional academic sense. But it's definitely, whatever it is, it's critical to whatever we're doing over here in psychology.And you began to understand that through your research in music recommender systems. And that has been your main area of study for the past 10 years or so the kind of recommender systems and algorithms used by platforms like Spotify and Pandora and all that sort of stuff. So you've done a series of in-depth ethnographic studies, which will come together in your book, Computing Taste, which I'm really looking forward to reading when it's out this December. Um, but I want to get into some of that material now.[00:20:28] Nick: Sure.[00:20:29] Cody: So one of my favorite papers of yours is called "Seeing Like an Infrastructure: avidity and difference in algorithmic recommendation." So can you tell me a little bit about this concept of avidity and how it plays out in the way engineers think about musical recommenders systems.[00:20:48] Nick: So that piece, seeing like an infrastructure, came about — it's going to be partly in this book, but the basic gist of it was this: I wanted to know how the people building recommender systems for music in particular thought about their users. This is sort of basic stuff. But it's very important, right?The way you build your technology, uh, is going to be shaped by the people that you think use it. Um, a side question that sort of rose to great public prominence during the time that I was working on this project, you know, over the past, like you said, 10 or 12 years was the question of diversity within these fields.So it is, you know, a well-known problem, certainly by now, um, that there is a lot of demographic homogeneity in tech companies and among the people who build these software systems. And many people suggest that the shortcomings are some of the shortcomings of these systems, um, or, you know, biased outputs, some of the racist outcomes we get from some machine learning systems, maybe directly traceable to that lack of diversity on the teams of the people who, who build them.Uh, so aside question here for me was how did the people building these systems understand diversity, uh, because there's more than one way to think about what diversity means and what kind of effect it might have on the technologies that you build. So one of the things I realized was that when people talked about music listeners, as you know, developers of recommender systems, they were very well aware that the people who used a recommender system were not really like the people who built the recommender system.And that's a kind of realization that doesn't always happen. It's been the subject of critique in lots of domains. Some people call the absence of that the iMethodology, which is what we use to say, you know, someone builds a system because it meets their own needs and they assume that they are, uh, like their users.So you get this class of startup ideas, you know, like, um, laundry delivery, uh, which is because, you know, you've got a bunch of dudes who have just graduated from college and they don't want to do their own laundry, and they're trying to solve their own problems, right. This kind of sector and, uh, style of development.But the people working on music recommendation seems pretty aware, uh, that they, they're not like the people who are using this. So the question then is in how — and well, the main thing that people would talk about when they talked about how they were different from their users and in how their users might be different from each other was what I ended up calling avidity, which is sort of my term, um, for a collection of ideas that you could sum up basically as how into music are people, right?How, how avidly do they seek out new music? How much do they care about music? How much should they want to listen to music? You know, how much work do they want to put into, uh, finding things to listen to and a recommender system, as you might guess, uh, is generally, uh, geared, especially these days toward less avid listeners, right? They're intended for people who don't really want to put that much effort into deciding what to listen to. If you knew what you wanted to listen to, you would not need an algorithmic recommendation.But on the other hand, the people who worked in these companies, they generally were very, very enthusiastic about music. And so when they were building recommender systems, they understood themselves as having to build those for someone that was not like them, which poses this question: how do you know what your users are like then? If they're not like you, what are you going to do?And so in short, the argument and the pieces that they come to understand their users primarily through the infrastructures that they build. So they learn things about their users, through the data collection apparatus or through the infrastructure that they create. An infrastructure is designed to capture things like how much you listen, at where you click, you know, the frequency of your listening to certain artists and so on. And in that data collection, what's most obvious? Avidity.How much you listen, how much clicking you do, because here's a database that's, you know, full of click events, listening events and so on. And so I argue in that piece that avidity is both a kind of cultural theory about how people are different from each other, but also something that's very closely tied to the specific infrastructure that they work on.So they want to try to be rational. They want to try to be objective. They don't want to try to build from their own personal experience. They're aware of that shortcoming. But the solution for that is in this sort of circular solution of using the actual data collection infrastructure that they've been building on. So they kind of reinforce this vision of avidity at the center, in the place of, you know, other kinds of variety that some of their critics might care about such as, uh, demographic homogeneity and so on.[00:25:22] Cody: Yeah, so that to me is such a fascinating insight. It's like, okay, if you're someone who doesn't have any preconceptions about what this might be like, you might come in and think, okay, well, if I were going to segment people up to recommend music to them, I would look for demographic qualities. I might look for things that I think would correspond to interest in certain genres, all of that, all of that sort of thing. But, based off of what you're saying, this dominant way of understanding people is through the amount of effort they're willing to put in to find something that they do not already know about.And you give an account from one of your informants who says they kind of have this pyramid : at the bottom is the musically indifferent than you have casual and engaged listeners and then musical savant at the top. And then in each of these four sectors, you have a totally different way of how you're trying to engage them and what it might mean to have a successful recommendation for them. And that to me just seems, uh, like a very interesting way of conceptualizing what it means to, to be engaged with music and to understand the different kinds of, of ways in which people are listening to a combination of what they like and what they might potentially like.[00:26:43] Nick: Yeah, absolutely. I think that, uh, maybe one thing that will help put us in some context is to think a bit about the history of algorithmic recommendation. Because you might think, yeah, like you said, that, uh, the first place you would go to sort of segment listeners to music would be demography because that's of course in the dominant mode of, of segmenting audiences for music, uh, ever since, you know, the origin of the recorded music industry. It's been a very, very dominant frame in the production of certain genres, you know, radio stations, stores, labels, charts, all the rest of it.There's a bunch of rich history of essentially race, uh, in the categorizing of, of music. And I'm talking here specifically at the United States, but you have similar dynamics globally. Um, but a very central sort of point of concern within the overall recommender systems world — and this includes things beyond music — is that using demographic categories for personalization is bad, right? That it's biased at best, that it's racist at worst. And that what recommender systems do — and this is an argument people are making in this field from its very origins in the mid 1990s — is provide a way for people to sort of escape from the bounds of demographic profiling. So it's very important to people in this field that they don't use demography, uh, the sort of recommender systems as the anti demographic thing are — it's a trope that's through, you know, it exists all the way through this, through this field from, from back then until, until the present.Um, what's striking about it, of course, is that, uh, in a world where people have race and they have gender and they have class. Those features do emerge in sort of proxy form in the data, right? So you, it is not always hard to guess someone's demographic qualities, uh, from what they listen to. You know, it's not deterministic relationship, but there's certainly a correlation there.So it is possible for demographics to re-emerge in this data, right. For them to think, oh, you know, they, these look like sort of feminine listening habits and so on. Um, there's a lot of work in, in, in how those categories emerge and how they can shift around over time. Um, but it's very important that people are working in this field that they don't take demography into account.In part because they're worried about doing what they describe as racial profiling. But even if that would be a sensible way to start, right — to think, well, there is certainly a racial pattern in production of music and, and listening patterns. They really hold that off limits intentionally.[00:29:11] Cody: One of the things that I've heard you talk about before in other podcasts interviews is that your job as an anthropologist is not simply to infiltrate these companies and collect secret facts about how the algorithms work. Your job is something closer to trying to describe the cultural processes, underlying their creation and figure out how the people who build these recommender systems understand what it is they're doing.So as you say, the more detailed you get on describing the algorithm itself, the more transient data information is. for example, how Facebook is, is weighting one aspect of the newsfeed on any given day — that could change tomorrow, but the underlying cultural and social constructs are more stable and in a way more fundamental to what it means for our society in our, in a larger sense.So I kind of want to bring in another paper that you've written in this sort of line, which is "Captivating Algorithms: recommender systems as traps" in which you compare the way Silicon valley engineers talk about their products and anthropological studies of literal animal traps. And so most tellingly, you have this quote, which I love, it's from a paper from near 1900 by an anthropologist named Otis Mason, I believe, which reads: the trap itself is an invention in which are embodied most careful studies in animal mentation and habits. The hunter must know for each species it's food it's likes and dislikes its weaknesses and foibles. A trap in this connection is an ambuscade, a temptation, irresistible, allurement. It is a strategy."So he's describing how the people he's studied think" about trapping animals. And in a sense, uh, you know, you're saying that you're leveraging the animal's own psychology against itself.Your point in this paper is that this is essentially the same language, or at least a very similar language, to what many people use in describing the quote "persuasive technologies" being built today. So can you expand on that idea a little bit and say what the anthropologist's perspective on studying these kinds of technologies looks like?[00:31:29] Nick: I love that line from, from Mason. I think it's very rich, uh, in helping us think about what we might be doing with technology from an anthropological point of view. Like I've been talking about one of the central concerns I have is how the people building these systems think about the, the, their users, uh, and one of the common things that they do then when they talk about what they're, what they're up to, is they talk about trying to capture them, right.They try to talk about capturing their attention, to bring attention back in. They talk about capturing market share. There's all of these captivation metaphors. And of course they don't literally mean that they're trying to, you know, cat trap you in a box or drop you in a hole through a layer of leaves or something like that.But one of the things that anthropologists get to do, which is fun and I think useful, uh, is draw broader comparisons in the people that we are talking to and talking about than they draw, to sort of put things in comparison, across cultural contexts. And so comparing these, you know, machine learning systems that are imagined to be high tech, the reason for the high valuation of all of these big tech companies, uh, thinking about them, not as being some brand new thing, that's never been seen before and requires a whole new theory of technology to understand, but thinking of them as being part of a continuum of technologies, that includes digging a hole in the ground and putting some sharp sticks in it. That I find really, uh, enticing, because it's going to help us think about these systems as just technologies, right? They're ordinary in a lot of ways, despite some of their weird qualities. So the basic argument of the traps paper is that we have this anthropology of trapping that suggests, okay, well, what is a trap? It's a weird kind of technology that really foregrounds, uh, the psychological, uh, involvement of the entities that's trying to trap, right? A mouse trap doesn't work. If the mouse doesn't do what it's supposed to do, uh, in the same way that your, you know, iPhone won't work, if you don't use the iPhone in the way you're supposed to. And this is in some ways a now classic argument within science and technology studies that you really have to configure a user for a technology in order for technology to work. There's no such thing as a technology that just works in isolation from a context of use. And so reminding ourselves of that fact, uh, is really handy in this domain because there's a lot of work on algorithms and AI that falls prey to this idea that, you know, oh, they're brand new, we never used to, we didn't want to go to technologies as being, you know, really determining of our situations and of advancing according to their own, their own logics before, but now it's true. Now algorithms are truly autonomous. And that's not really true, right. There are people who work on them who build them, who changed them over time. And they're doing that with a model of prey in mind.So I'm drawing on a little bit of an expansion of that anthropology of trapping tradition by an anthropologist named Alfred Gell, who has a very famous article in anthropology, where he talks about artwork as being a kind of trap. Also a similar, you know, the idea of like a good, a good work of art is going to produce a psychological effect on its viewers.But it's going to do that using technical means, right? So, and, uh, really intricately carved statue could cause someone to sort of stand still and look at it. And we don't want to forget that that statue, in addition to being quote unquote, art, uh, is also technology, right? It's also an artifact that's been created by people using tools.And it is in some sense, a tool in its own right for producing an effect in a viewer. And so I like to use this anthropology of trapping literature to think a little bit more expansively about questions that have really been coming up lately around ethics and persuasion in digital media. So we have documentaries, organizations, and so on, like I'm thinking "The Social Dilemma" from the center for humane technology is the sort of most prominent one, that suggests that, you know, Facebook is like a slot machine. It is trying to get you addicted to it and is trying to produce bad effects in your mind. YouTube is doing this as well.They're incentivizing people to make outrageous content because they're trying to maximize the amount of time that people spend on their sites. Now, these are all stories about digital technology that really fairly explicitly figure them as trap-like in the sense that I've been describing . Facebook is designed to make you do things against your will, uh, which are also against your best interest. So they have the trick you using them. And so we see that kind of trap metaphor out in the wild there, um, in critiques that people will make of these systems. So it was really striking to me to see that in both critiques, but also just in the self descriptions of people working in this space.It was not weird for people working in music in particular to say: yeah, of course, I want to get people addicted to listening to music. And it maybe didn't even seem that bad. But is it really bad if you listen to more music than you used to listen to, is that worthy of being called an addiction? Is that really a problem?But thinking about trapping in this sort of broad anthropological way, I hope, um, steps us back from this binary question. You know, are these things harmful? Are they coercive or not? And into a gray or a space where we say, you know, sort of all technologies have a bit of persuasion and coercion mixed into them.They all sort of demand certain things of their users, but they can't really demand them entirely. And so if we step back, we can start to think of, um, technologies as existing, within a broader field of psychological effects of people trying to get other people to do what they want them to do. And it sort of field of persuasion, um, where we don't have to say, okay, well, you know what the problem is, recommender systems is they really, you know, deny you agency, which they can't. They can't ultimately deny you agency entirely. But they do depend on you playing a certain role in relation to them.[00:37:22] Cody: Cody here. Thanks for listening to the show. I'd love to get your thoughts on this episode. One of the challenges, as you might imagine, as a writer and podcast producer, is that it's hard to get direct feedback from your readers and listeners, what they like or don't like what's working well or needs to be rethought.You can tell a little bit about this from metrics like views or downloads, but it isn't very nuanced. So I've created an avenue for getting that kind of feedback: a listener survey available with every podcast episode. If you have feedback on what you found most interesting or what you thought could be improved, I'd love to hear it.You can find the link in the show notes or at survey.Againsthabit.com. That's survey.againsthabit.com. Now back to the show.What do you think the role of habits are in everything that we're talking about here? Because it seems largely that the psychology that engineers are relying on when they're building their products, when they're thinking about persuasive technologies, when they're trying to trap a user, it's largely the psychology of habits and habit formation.So I don't know. What do you, what do you make of that? And, you know, what's what does that sort of suggest to you about how we should think about these technologies and the way they're exploiting our habitual psychology?[00:38:47] Nick: That's a very nice connection. There is a historian of science named Henry Cowell who is working on some of this history of the psychology of habit in relation to attention , which might be interesting. But from my point of view, in sort of anthropology side of things, when I think of habit, I think of what we often talk about in the social sciences as a, as habitus, which sounds a fancy way of saying the sort of collection of habits that you acquire as part of becoming an inculturated person.So as you grow up, you learn a bunch of habitual things. It's not the sort of small-scale habits of like, you know, self-help books where they say, oh, if you remember to, uh, you know, put your toothbrush out in a certain spot in the morning, it'll trigger you to brush your teeth on time, but rather it's something broader than that, right? Which is that we have a bunch of tendencies in the ways that we behave in the ways that we respond to the outside world and the way we use our bodies that are those, those are all solidified in us over time. And so if you ever have the experience of culture shock of going to a place where people don't have quite the same habits as you do, it becomes very obvious that what seems totally natural and comfortable and regular to you, it doesn't seem that way to, to other people.And so technologies are part of that broader field of habits or habitus in that a lot of the kind of habits that we have are sort of organized around technological implements, right? So very explicitly people working in this field, um, folks like Nir Eyal who's book, Hooked, is plainly about this, about how companies can learn to sort of incite habits and their users, they suggest that, you know, what, what you want to do, if you want your company to become really successful is you want to make users use it habitually. Something like, you know, users will open up Facebook, um, before they've even consciously thought about what they're doing. And I'm sure plenty of people have had the same experience of, you know, being on Twitter or on Facebook, closing the window on their browser, opening a new window on their browser and going immediately back to that website before realizing, wait, what am I doing?That kind of unthinking habitual behavior is where that intersection of persuasion and coercion sort of happens. Right. If someone's making me do that, um, that's probably not quite what I want. It takes place within the sort of broader field of overall habits. And arguably, and this is something that people in the social sciences have argued for a while now, your taste is also part of this, right? So you learn to like certain things. It's very easy for people to learn, to, you know, uh, to dislike a style of music, for instance, such that when it comes on the radio, you'll turn the radio off immediately and be like, that's horrible. You know, I can't imagine that anyone else would like this, but of course other people do like it. Which just gives lie to the idea that there's something objective going on under there.But technology and recommender systems in particular and the way that I try to think about them in my book and through my, uh, articles, uh, I want to try to think about recommender systems as really occupying that in-between space between technology and taste, or as you know, the title of my book, computing and taste. Cause we often talk about those domains as though they're really separate from each other, right? Computers are rational, they're quantitative, they're logical. Whereas taste is subjective. It's individual, it's expressive, it's inexpressible through numbers. Those two ideas, you know, we think of them as being really opposed. There's no accounting for taste and so on.And yet they come together in recommender systems, uh, in a way that some people fault because they think that you shouldn't do that. You shouldn't cross the streams from these two, these two different domains. Um, but which I think of as not being that weird, if we think of taste as being a sort of set of habits as being part of this kind of, you know, apparatus through which we live our lives, and we think of technology as also being part of this broader scene of habits and habituation, right? Technologies are not, uh, separate from, from the human world. Computers did not invent themselves and they do not program themselves. So actually all of this is getting played with together, uh, in a way that's not that weird if you think about it. Now, it may be done in ways that we don't like, and it may have effects that we don't want. But it's important. It was important for me to try to give an anthropological account of recommenders systems that didn't start from the premise that, oh, this is impossible. Like you can't do this. Everybody knows that human expression and feeling cannot be worked on through the computer. Because it's pretty clear that it can be worked on through the computer. What's not clear is what that means for how we understand computers and for how we understand taste.[00:43:24] Cody: Okay. Here is an easy question then. What is your theory of taste?[00:43:32] Nick: Ooh. Okay. This is a fun question. So my theory of taste, I have to start with the, with the, the sort of default social science theory of taste. The default social science theory of taste is what we would call the homology thesis, which is that there is a homology or a sort of structural similarity between class and taste. So fancy people like fancy things and less fancy people like less fancy things. If you like the opera, or if you like country music that tells me something about who you are. That's the sort of canonical, a social scientific argument.And in that case taste is really not the thing that most people think it is where it's like, oh, this is just my personal preferences. It's actually something that sort of determined by your social status. Now that's a fairly vulgar account of that theory, but I think it's fairly widely shared among lots of people that taste is effectively arbitrary. And at the end of the day, it really just reflects your sort of social position, maybe also, you know, your race. But certainly essentially like how fancy you are in a sort of class based system.My thinking on taste is largely informed by a tradition in sociology that is usually called the pragmatics of taste, which suggests that sure, maybe that happens, that homology thing. But the problem with that homology thesis is that it doesn't tell you how or why fancy people come to like fancy things or why people in any social group come to acquire the tastes that are associated with that group. And so what these folks do, um, usually through fairly rich ethnographic observation, which is maybe why I like them, um, is they try to describe all of the conditions by which people come to acquire taste. And so they have these studies of, you know, uh, opera fans. There's a book by Claudio Benzecry about how opera fans learn to become opera fans, um, or how, you know, people who listen to, uh, vinyl records set up their little listening stations in their home. There's a lot of stuff that people do to try to, uh, instrument their taste, to, to orchestrate encounters with music in particular.And so I'm really invested in that idea of taste as something that you do rather than something that you just sort of have. Uh, and as something that's very much entangled with technology, a favorite example of mine is, you know, we have a sense of what it means to have taste right now, right? What music do you pick on Spotify or something like that. But if we go back, you know, 50 years, uh, what it meant to have tasted in music might have to do with what radio stations you listen to, uh, what records you bought at the record store records. You know, they're all the same shape. They're all the same color. Basically the more or less cost the same so when you're picking among them all you're doing is expressing yourself, right? You're just making a cultural claim. But what it meant to have tasted that moment was really entangled with technologies, the radio, the LP. Go back a hundred years before that you don't have recorded music. So can anyone have a taste in music then? Certainly not in the way we can now. At the very least taste would mean something different. And so I'm really interested in the idea that what tastes even is is totally entangled with these techniques by which we come to acquire and encounter, uh, cultural objects.So that is a very long-winded way of saying that I think of taste as being this kind of emergent thing that people do in particular settings with particular tools. And one of the tools that they use nowadays is recommender systems.[00:46:47] Cody: One of the things I'm interested in along this line is whether or not our tastes are becoming more monolithic. So my colleague, Adam Mastroianni has a recent essay on this. He puts together these data showing that through the year 2000, about 25% of a year's highest grossing movies were spinoffs, franchises, or sequels. But now, uh, closer to 2020, it's somewhere in the neighborhood of 75%. And he has similar data for TV shows, books, and music as well.So what role do you think recommender systems might be playing in this and in particular, are platforms like Spotify, Netflix, and the like funneling us into these kind of genre enclaves, where they find it legitimately difficult to point us towards something that is at the same time, both new and something that we'll like. What do you make of that, and is that a function of recommender systems as you've come to understand them?[00:47:51] Nick: Well, it's a great question because you're pointing out that the basic tension at the heart of recommender systems . Which is that they're about helping people find a music that they don't know about yet. So there's an assumption that you're, that you like more than, you know. but they're based on this idea that you won't like everything, right?So it has something to do with what you are already know. There's this tension between the constraints, profiling someone and saying, okay, what do you like? And that idea that what you might do with that profiling is broaden people's horizons. And that's a real tension. It's something that I think a lot of critics don't appreciate, that there is a commitment to broadening horizons in this field. Whether or not they achieve them is another question.But that's something that people in the field are really concerned with and trying to figure out: wait a minute, we're sort of pigeonholing people, but we don't want to pigeon hole them. We want to help them. And forever, we've always been saying that recommender systems are about, you know, like, like we were talking about earlier about, you know, cracking you out of a given categories to help you find new things. Or they used to say, you know, 20 years ago that recommender systems would help you go down the "long tail." They would help you find more obscure things that you would never find otherwise, because there were too many things, you just wouldn't have a way to know about these less popular objects.Of course, now we have a lot of concern — this is not a new concern — but the continuing concern about monoculture, about a kind of similarity. And algorithms have emerged as one of the kinds of entities we might blame for why that is, of course, because you know, oh, you like that, you want more like that. There's this kind of valorization of the similar in recommender systems that maybe seems like a cause for this problem more globally.I think it's certainly part of an overall apparatus of cultural production, which is very risk averse now. So one of the things you see in this context of, you know, every movie occurring within the Marvel cinematic universe or whatever. I think you can't really say a recommender system did that. Because certainly a recommender system didn't get to decide what was happening there. But you do have, you know, industries that are organized around trying to maximize their, their successes, and clearly are finding, you know, success, uh, in doing what they're doing and doing what, uh, Mastroianni calls that oligopoly of production.So I think one thing that points us to is the importance of looking at the overall system, you know, recommender systems are a more and more prominent part of cultural circulation now, but they're not everything. And so we don't want to say, oh, it was the algorithm. So it points us to that. But it also points us to this other really interesting, like philosophical question, is you mentioned this idea of genre enclaves, which is a lovely way to put what other people would describe as like filter bubbles. And one funny thing about recommender systems is that if I know enough to recognize a filter bubble, to put you into one, to recognize similarities, such that I can put you there, that means that I have enough data, if I'm a recommender system, to take you out of it. I know what similar is. That means that I know what different is also. And so within that very same system, in theory, I should be able to use the recommender system in a different way, not to give you exactly the same thing, but rather to very on-purpose, um, give you something else to give you something that is different. That's already entailed in the idea that I know enough to put you in a filter bubble in the first place.So in some sense, the, the problem may not be with the technology itself, but with this particular style of implementation, right. We could be implementing recommender systems that more aggressively are about spreading people away from the similar, and that's something you would do with more or less the same system you have now just tuned in a, in a slightly different way.Why is it not tuned in a different way? Well, that's not an algorithm thing, right? That's a business decision. Uh, the algorithm could go either way. It doesn't really care.[00:51:34] Cody: That seems like it comes back to the distinction that your engineering interviewee was talking about where you have the pyramid, with the sort of least engaged, they want to, as he says, lean back, put the music on and then just not really have to do anything to have to make any decisions, find new stuff, skip songs.And then you have the lean in musical savant and more engaged listeners. And clearly the vast majority of listeners and our viewers are going to be in that bottom chunk of the pyramid. And you have the highest probability of reaching the largest number of people by catering to that listener or viewer as your default option, rather than saying, oh, I'm going to try and shape the musical tastes of the youth in a way that exposes them to the meritorious histories of, of jazz and the, you know, unexpected sides of hip hop and all that sort of stuff. So it seems to me like that's a big current in all that's happening here.[00:52:38] Nick: Yeah, I would say one of the sort of stories that emerges over the course of my whole book is this transformation of music recommendation from the sort of first contemporary recommender system named as such in the mid 1990s, um, to the present. Where in the beginning, those early recommender systems were designed around the idea that the user was a really enthusiastic or avid listener, right? You were like really into music. You were going to put in some effort, you were going to open up a recommender system and try to use it specifically to find new stuff, right? You are almost by definition, a kind of crate digger, uh, in that context. Cause it was like more work to use a recommender system than to just turn on the radio. So you already had a way to not put a lot of effort. And uh, so you were in. You know, contemporary industry terms would, would put it, uh, you were a lean forward listener, right? You were someone who was sort of, uh, enthusiastically pursuing a new music.And then over time, since then, just what you described has happened, right? This sort of default assumption of what a user for these systems should be like, um, became something different, right? It became this lean-back listener. It became this person who like, eh, they might not even listen to music at all. So we need to find some way to, you know, entice them into doing it. And a recommended system was maybe a way of doing that. So you open up your Spotify or whatever, and you see, as long as you see something that you're like, sure, I'll listen to that. Then that would catch that person who otherwise may not listen at all. And that's a big change and it comes along alongside a change in data practices, to sort of loop back to this, uh, seeing like an infrastructure question, because those early recommender systems, what data did they have? They had data that you proactively gave them about what you liked, right? You would have to go in and explicitly rate artists, or if it was movies, uh, you know, you know, five stars on Netflix or whatever. And over time, those explicit ratings really get mostly replaced by what they would call implicit ratings. So the idea that listening to a song means that you like it a little bit. You listen to it a lot that becomes more of a sign that you like it. And this is the kind of logic we're very familiar with now in this sort of big data moment, right? This is what big data is all about. This idea that these behavioral traces are, uh, more real. They're easier for people to do. I don't have to explicitly rate something you to sort of know on the basis of what I'm doing. Or you think, you know, uh, what I like, and you might suggest that's a better account of what I like, you know. I might go on Netflix and, you know, give five stars to all of the fancy, classy people movies, but I never watched them. And if you kept recommending them to me, I wouldn't really use Netflix as much, but what I really want is, you know, 1990s action movies. And if you saw what I actually watched, you would know that that's a common argument that they'll make. So we have that transition in sort of three different things at the same time. The change in the kind of data that's available to recommender systems, right? This sort of like trace data of user behavior. We have this change in the economics of, uh, the online media industry right where everything's sort of become streaming and it's not, you know, Netflix used to be a DVD rental company, and then now it becomes something else, right, where they want you to spend more time on it. And that will feed back into getting more data. And then the third thing that comes around is this changing how we know things are, how the people building these systems, know things about their users, which are all entangled together in this sort of emergence of, uh, sort of modern data collection apparatus. And they're all mutually reinforcing cycles.So that's a really big change, I think in the way those, those systems work. And if people are looking for ways out of it, I think that one way that an anthropology of this can be useful is to really foreground and describe what exactly the situation is that we're in.And so one thing I tend to argue is that if we want to get out of some of this really aggressive data collection situation, which happens obviously in domains beyond music and in many other domains where it's much more significant. One thing we might want to think about then is how to intervene in these imaginations of users, right? In the vision of the user, as someone who doesn't really want to get involved, who we sort of tricked into listening, and therefore we have to capture as much data about them as possible because they're not going to give the data to us on purpose. If we change that model, if we change the way that we think about people, then I think that's a key part of the overall edifice of data collection and why data is seen as so valuable now.[00:57:08] Cody: I see that as, as tying into what we were talking about earlier with the model of the individual that the engineers are using is based off of basically the psychology of habits. And so data are most valuable in understanding how to exploit habitual systems and how to essentially, to go back to your metaphor use products as traps for habits and attention, whatever attention may be.And so it seems like part of what you're saying or another, a rephrasing of, of what you're saying an implication may be, is that the more we're able to put in to achieve that higher effort level of avidity, to engage more in a direct and meaningful and thoughtful way with whatever content we're consuming, the less we rely on habit, the less we can be exploited by an understanding of what we habitually do. And the more we can kind of be liberated from the cycle of collect data, exploit it, go further down the rabbit hole of social media and digital content consuming our attention and our lifestyles.[00:58:31] Nick: Yeah. And I think just to like loop back to what we talked about earlier this is one reason why I think having a kind of cultural understanding of the logics behind these systems and how people think is really useful, because a lot of the critiques of these systems we've seen now are couched in the sort of same habits science, behaviorist framework as the systems they're criticizing. So people who say, oh, you know, Facebook's a slot machine or whatever really believe that the best way to model human behavior is still that same behaviorist habit model, that same, you know, press a lever, give you a treat, rat in a cage kind of model. And I think that that model is really constraining in what kinds of futures we can imagine for what humans are going to do. And it really limits us to a certain narrow set of technical interventions. And so by trying to name that by trying to step back and say, what is this, what is this model of the human that's involved in these systems? I want to try, and this is something I'm trying to do with in my newer work on attention, to think about the sort of arbitrariness of those models, and how, if we want to imagine different futures, we might need to think about some of these foundational assumptions differently as well. I'm not sure that we're going to lever press our way out of a sort of behaviorist hellscape that we find ourselves in now.[00:59:54] Cody: Nick. It's been a great pleasure to talk, and I appreciate your perspective on all these things. I could probably go on asking you questions about this space of topics for the next two hours, but you've been really generous with your time. So thanks for taking the time to talk.[01:00:09] Nick: Thanks so much. It was a pleasure.[01:00:11] Cody: That was my conversation with Nick Seaver.I hope you enjoyed it. One of the topics that we didn't get around to is the connection between avidity and anthropological field work itself. It's a topic I know Nick has thought about in his work on attention, and it is also one of the things that I personally most admire about anthropology.My own field, psychology suffers from a historical lack of attention dedicated toward Western people. We study American college students. We assume that whatever we find there will apply to the rest of the world. The field has started to correct this in recent years, but I believe it's an assumption that's built into the psychological worldview in ways that are important and difficult to eradicate.But the premise of the field of anthropology, starting with historical figures like Tylor and Malinowski, is that attending to what other people are up to is actually a lot of work. It's not just enough to be vaguely interested in what other people are doing, especially far away people, but you actively have to search out the best possible vantage from which to observe and make sense of their behavior. To me, that's an application of this basic idea of attention as effort.So in this case, avidity — the amount of effort we're willing to put into acquire new information or seek new experiences — is not only crucial when it comes to the kind of content we consume, but crucial to our ability to understand people with different perspectives.This nods toward one of the foundations of our polarized society. We tend to be, especially as Americans, intuitive psychologists. We assume that the minds of people far away from us mostly look like the minds of people who are in our immediate vicinity. Then we're shocked to find that people who don't occupy our same cultural milieu think in a way that's totally foreign to us.Maybe we need to operate less in our default mode as intuitive psychologists and instead explore what it might mean to operate as intuitive anthropologists.I'd love to know what you thought of this episode. If you want to give me some feedback, you can go to survey.againsthabit.com. If you'd like to subscribe to my Substack newsletter for more content, you can go straight to againsthabit.com.This episode was edited and produced by Emily Chen. I'm Cody Kommers, and thanks for listening to Against Habit. This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.Stephen Kosslyn is a foundational figure in the field of cognitive science. It is only fitting that he is the final guest in my Cognitive Revolution interview series, before I transition into a new line of content which I’m calling “Against Habit.” I remember in my introduction to my introduction to cognitive science course—which helped set me on the track I’m on today—learning about the mental imagery debate between Stephen Kosslyn and Zenon Pylyshyn. Kosslyn argued that the mental images we can conjure in our minds are indeed pictorial. Pylyshyn argued they merely felt that way; in fact, they’re closer to linguistic descriptions. It was fun to talk to Professor Kosslyn about his experience in cognitive science, how he’s used his cognitive scientific experience to do more applied work in recent years, and how cognitive scientists should think about novels and fictional rendering of human behavior. Stephen is currently president of Active Learning Sciences, Inc. and has served as chief academic officer for cutting edge educational institutions such as Foundry College and Minerva Schools. He was previously the John Lindsley Professor of Psychology in Memory of William James and Dean of Social Science at Harvard University.Like this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners. This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.Tom Griffiths is Professor Psychology and Computation Science at Princeton University, where he directs the Computational Cognitive Science Lab. Tom uses algorithms from AI to inform his work as a psychologist—testing the ways in which hims align with or deviate from the standards set by the AI models. He’s a central figure in this field, and in this episode we go deep on how it first occurred to Tom to use computers to study the mind—as well as where this work has taken him over the years. Tom recently released a podcast series through Audible, co-hosted with Brian Christian, called Algorithms at Work. I finished it recently and can confidently say it’s one of the best podcast series I’ll listen to all year!Like this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners. This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.Leyla Isik is Clare Boothe Luce Assistant Professor of Cognitive Science at Johns Hopkins University. She did her PhD at MIT with Nancy Kanwisher and Tommy Poggio. Leyla’s research uses state-of-the-art techniques in neuroimaging and computational modeling to study how people interpret real scenes. For instance, her studies have scanned the people of participants as they watch scenes from the TV show Sherlock. This is a crucial frontier of neuroscientific research, as it takes our most incisive tools for understanding the brain and liberates them from the confines of contrived experiments. Leyla and her research lab well-positioned to introduce fundamental insights about brain and behavior in the coming decades.Like this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.Antonio Damasio is an eminent neuroscientist and author. Damasio is originally from Portugal. He is the David Dornsife Chair in Neuroscience, as well as Professor of Psychology, Philosophy, and Neurology, at USC. His books include Descartes’ Error and Self Comes to Mind. His latest book is Self Comes to Mind: Constructing the Conscious Brain. In this conversation, we trace the trajectory of his life and work from his early experiences to his most recent text.Like this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

It’s officially spring now: time to reflect on what I’ve read (and watched) over winter. Overall, in the past few months I’ve found myself with little inclination to read works of psychology, or even much non-fiction generally.Maybe that’s because I’m in the final stages of finishing my PhD, and so I find myself restlessly trying to cover non-psychological territory. But I don’t think that’s it. The real reason—or the story that I’ve come up with at any rate—has to do with how I’m growing as a person. It has to do with the fundamental complicatedness of life. I’m trying to embrace it. Not escape it.The driving force in psychological research is simplification. The research takes a seemingly complicated dynamic in human behavior and subjugate it into some conceptually understandable (usually dichotomous) box. How does reasoning and decision-making work? Well, it’s complicated. But you can start by dividing things into System 1 and System 2. The first one is fast, relies on heuristics, and prone to bias. The second one is slow, deliberate, and based in logical processing. That’s an example. It’s the essence of Daniel Kahneman’s famous Thinking, Fast and Slow.And this kind of dichotomizing and conceptual simplification is something I’m drawn to. I find it compelling. It’s standard-operating-procedure for anyone interested in writing about psychology, and I hope to do a lot of it in my own work as a writer. But I also feel that in coming up on ten years of studying psychology and cognitive science, I’m starting to wonder about other approaches to studying the human mind.What if, instead of taking the complicated aspects of behavior and trying to simplify them, we leaned into the complicatedness of human life in its full convoluted glory? What would that look like? Well, it would look like a novel. And up until recently—let’s say a couple years ago—I didn’t know what to do with that. As I wrote in my essay on the Hungarian masterpiece Journey by Moonlight, I always felt like I was waiting for someone to come along and explain what was happening to me while reading the book. Then I became frustrated when no conceptually simplified dichotomy was forthcoming. Having exhausted the simplifying approach via psychology (or at the very least, gone a long way with where that will take me) I find myself ready to encounter some new territory, some ground that requires new and different tools for me to grow something in it. So like I said. I’m working on trying to lean into the complexity of life, rather than subjugate it. It’s okay if I don’t understand everything. The set of things I can engage with if I don’t expect to “understand” them is much larger than what I could otherwise deal with. That seems to me like a big benefit. I also feel there are aspects of life—relationships with partners and family especially come to mind—that really lend themselves to investigating through literary rather than scientific means.So here I am. I’ve read a few novels in the opening months of this year. I’ve also watched quite a bit of TV. But that has less to do with growing as a person. It’s more that English winters are the perfect inspiration for shrugging off responsibilities and settling in on the couch. If you ask me, that sounds way better than working on my dissertation.Books“End of the End of the World” by Jonathan Franzen.I’ve been going through a bit of a Franzen-phase. I’d never read him before. But I counted his novel Freedom as my second favorite book I read in 2021. This is his most recent collection of essays. It was… mostly about birds? Like, it’s a book about climate change, but it turns out that the only reason J Franz really cares about climate change is because it’s going to kill off a bunch of bird species. The whole consequences-for-humans aspect of the whole thing seems to be an auxiliary consideration. Anyway. I was just happy to read something that gives me a bit more direct insight into the mind of someone whose novel I loved. This just happened to be the one that popped up first at the used book store, but I’m looking forward to reading his other collections of non-fiction.“The Three Body Problem” by Cixin LiuOne of the questions I always ask my guests on Cognitive Revolution is which three books have most influenced them. The three most common answers are: “Gödel, Escher, Bach” by Douglas Hofstadter; “Man’s Search for Meaning” by Viktor Frankl; and this one. It’s a work of science fiction by a Chinese author. I don’t read much science fiction. It’s just not really my thing. But I figured in this case I’d like to give it a go. And while I enjoyed reading this one, I wouldn’t say I’m in a rush to finish the trilogy. Part of me felt like the reason a bunch of scientists recommended this book is that all of the main characters are scientists and all of the key plot points are scientific. So scientists are just happy to see themselves represented in what is undoubtedly a great, creative, and ambitious work of literature.“Think Again” by Adam GrantI got into this in early February, but I haven’t finished yet. Adam Grant is Exhibit A of the simplifying process of psychology I described in the intro. And part of me means that in a really good way; he’s the state-of-the-art in making complicated ideas as comprehensive as possible while still retaining their incisive edge. But I also can’t escape the feeling of kitsch—that when he’s explaining an idea he’s really Doing A Thing. Like, he understands how explaining works and so now he’s applying the tried-and-tested formula. It’s a great formula. But it’s just that—a formula. And so I find myself less drawn to that kind of work than I maybe would have five years ago. Still, it’s a thesis that I find myself in deep sympathy with: that we need always to be reevaluating our closely held assumptions, habits, and beliefs. So it’s still a worthwhile read, and an archetypal example of why Adam Grant is at the top of the bringing-psych-research-to-a-broader-audience game.“Spring” by David SzalayThis rounds out a trio of books I’ve read over the past year by this British-Hungarian author. By far the best was his “All that Man Is,” which I ranked fourth in my books from last year. This early offering is definitely a less refined work than that one. It’s a novel of manners, with the social milieu under consideration essentially being the millennial dating-scene of London. It’s got great London vibes and great romantically frustrated millennial vibes. I’d recommended it for anyone for whom that sounds appealing.“Outline” by Rachel CuskThis will definitely make my year-end book list. I had never heard of Rachel Cusk before. But I can see why she’s so well-regarded. I’m looking forward to getting into the rest of her works—this one is actually the first installment in a trilogy, so those other two books are high on my list.I was actually recommended this book by Sam Gershman. In citing his most influential books, he mentioned “Three Body Problem,” which I’d definitely gotten from a number of guests already. But he also mentioned Rachel Cusk. At first, I forgot about it in the moment, then when I revisited the episode I became intrigued. I’m super glad I found her.Essentially, this novel takes place across ten different conversations. The narrator is a writer who travels from London to Greece to give a writing seminar. So there’s not really any conventional plot, at least in terms of there being rising action and a driving narrative thread throughout the story. Instead, what you get are encounters with people from different walks of life—a London billionaire, a Greek taxi driver, an aspiring writer—each of whom gives the narrator an insight into their worldview. The conceit of the book is that each of one of these people is hyper-articulate about their own views and perspectives. It’s sort of like Aaron Sorkin-style dialogue, where any one of the characters has the verbal skills to destroy an interlocutor in a formal debate. These are the “outlines” of people’s lives that we get a glimpse into. And, as ever, by understanding more about how others see the world, we’re getting closer to understanding the hidden and unexpected nuances within our own perspective.“Heart of Darkness” by Joseph ConradThe classic. Extended essay forthcoming…“It is written that I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice.”“A Gentleman in Moscow” by Amor TowlesI read this book hoping that the theme of “being trapped at home” will never again be as salient for me as it has been over the past two years. So I went in expecting a book that was moody and dark (i.e., Russian) and about a dude who was essentially isolated by himself in a room for a long period of time. Turns out, that’s not at all what the book is about. It is, above all, about fun. I think of the book less like a novel that’s driven by an overarching plot, but more like a TV show—where each episode features a distinct, encapsulated story line. There are a few threads running throughout. But it’s more that each chapter is a Seinfeldian stand-alone vignette, where something fairly inane but nevertheless entertaining and mildly hilarious transpires. Even so, I still hope the “trapped at home” theme never quite resonates in the way it has over the past two years…“Normal People” by Sally RooneyThis book is a phenomenon. And whenever something sells a gazillion copies I’m always interested to see what resonated so deeply with people. I read Matt Haig’s “Midnight Library” last year, which falls into the same category (it wasn’t for me). I liked Sally Rooney a lot more. I’d already watched the BBC TV show based on the book, and it turns out that the series is a really high-fidelity adaptation. I’d even say that Paul Mescal in the series is way more Connelly than Connell is in the book. At any rate, the book didn’t blow my mind or anything. But it resonates with a larger theme I’ve been thinking about recently, which is: What constitutes a “normal” relationship? As in, what is the baseline expectation about how a relationship (between two romantic partners) should be functioning? The answer is somewhere between “totally perfect all the time” and “totally catastrophic always”. But I think even trying to say which end of the spectrum a normal relationship lands on according to business as usual is even really tough to say! This is one of the big themes of “complicatedness” that I’ve been leaning into recently. Relationships are complicated. Sally Rooney definitely thinks so. Marianne and Connell’s relationship is definitely on the “totally catastrophic always” side of the spectrum—punctuated with brief spells of bliss—and that says a lot if they’re the “normal people” in the title. But maybe “normal” is instead aspirational, and they just want to be normal like everyone else and not so fucked up. Maybe we all wanted to be less fucked up and more normal like everyone else. Another novelist who is fascinated by this question is Jonathan Franzen. Have I mentioned him before?“The Corrections” by Jonathan FranzenThe approximately 14,000 pages between Franzen’s “Freedom” and “The Corrections” have totally changed the way I think about life. That’s not an exaggeration. They’ve done more to reorient my thinking than anything else I’ve engaged with in recent memory.The basic theme shared between the books is about what to do with a fucked-up family. Both books deal with five characters. And in each chapter, we see things from the perspective of one of the characters (it’s essentially a third-person narrator who at any one time has privileged vantage into a single character’s view). The way I describe reading one of his novels is that it is like looking into one of those 10x mirrors that you find in hotel bathrooms. You see everything in excruciating detail. Much closer up than you really want to. And because there are these rotating perspectives and you’re seeing people’s individual take on shared events, as well as the nuances of their dyadic relationship with every other individual, the overall effect is this holistic psychological portrait of this family dynamic. The reason that this is useful is that because, speaking personally, I have only ever seen one family close up in anything like that kind of resolution. That is my own. And because I don’t have anything to compare them to, I don’t know what’s fucked up in a way that’s fucked up for everyone and therefore is inevitable, or what’s fucked up in a way that’s unique to my family and therefore is not inevitable. Franzen’s massive novels make it feel like I’ve finally gotten close enough to another family unit to scrutinize what’s happening. And what’s my conclusion? Well, it’s worth providing the caveat that these books are super long for a reason—and any summary of their “insights” necessarily glosses over all that critical detail. If that detail wasn’t necessary, then J Franz could’ve just tweeted the insight then moved on with life. But at any rate, my summary is this: in these stories, there is nothing any of the characters can do at any point to unfuck their own situation. There is no decision they can make that will lead them to a not fucked up relationship. Their choices are only ever between Fucked-Up-A and Fucked-Up-B. It’s not really a happy notion (in the essay collection mentioned above, Franzen self-identifies as a “pessimistic realist”). But in accepting—or at least appreciating—that the choice is between two suboptimal paths, it frees you from the tyranny of the optimal.So if you really want to get into the theme of romantically frustrated millennials, here’s the real issue! Because we’re given so much power to “optimize” our own lives (e.g., through sourcing potential mates via Tinder), we’re constantly put under pressure to end up on a path that feels optimal. If it feels like we’re not getting the best case scenario, then we say f**k that path and look for another. So it matters a lot what we think the “best” option is. If it’s “totally perfect all the time” then we’re going to inadvertently cause ourself to end up in the “totally fucked up always” camp by seeking something that doesn’t exist and asking of our loved ones something they cannot give. Anyway. I really enjoyed these Franzen novels. I’m going to read his “Twenty-Seventh City” next, though I’m in no particular hurry. Also, “Crossroads” when it comes out in paperback.TelevisionNewsroomA three-season show starring Jeff Daniels written by Aaron Sorkin, mentioned above, who wrote The West Wing. I’ve heard some people say it’s better than West Wing, which is probably incorrect because even if it’s pound-for-pound as good The West Wing maintained that excellence for 10+ seasons. Whereas The West Wing is a show about the political process in the White House (particularly its interaction with the press room), the Newsroom looks at a foil of that process—the production and dissemination of network cable news critiquing the political process from an external perspective. In a way, the show was prescient in the themes it deals with: Who decides on the facts? Who chooses what gets air time? How do you balance differing perspectives on the same underlying issue? These are the questions of our age. And though we’re used to dealing with them in the context of Trump & Twitter et al, Newsroom looks at a time that goes up until moments before all that, the cusp of the social media era. My only note here is be careful. The show is so watchable. I couldn’t stop once I started. I was powerless to watch all three seasons. But I have no self control. Maybe you do.30 RockNever watched. Now I have. It was fun!After Life, Season 3 (Netflix)I’d describe Season 1 and 2 of After Life as a perfect show, at least for what it was trying to be. Season 3 is definitely solid, but probably it’s best that the show wraps up here. Part of the magic of this show is that its scope is so small. One English dude. Sad little English town. Lost his wife to cancer. Wants to kill himself. Doesn’t, just to see what happens. His strategy for dealing with the darkness: laughter. And because the scope so well-constrained, I think Gervais really nails it.The show also accords with this theory I have about comedy. Essentially, the reason why comedy is hard as a comedian is that you’re telling people that you’re about to be funny. They expect to laugh, because laughter is the promise. Therefore, you have to overcome this expectation to earn their laughter. Laughter in this situation is costly.But in daily life, laughter is cheap! We laugh all the time, often at pretty much nothing. The difference is in expectation. So a comedian or a comedy show has to be really, really good in order to come off as funny. But shows or performances which are supposed to be for some other non-comedic purpose, any comedy that gets incorporated is much more likely to land. The expectations are lower. This theory suggests that the best (or at least the easiest) way to be funny is to come to people on non-comedic grounds. Gervais does this in After Life by starting from the insanely, heart-wrenchingly tragic premise of losing his wife, the only person he really loved and who gave his life meaning. Now his life is devoid of love and meaning and happiness, and he and everyone around him knows it. That’s the least funny premise of all time. Which just makes the show all that funnier, once he begins to uncover genuinely hilarious material.Ozark, Season 4 (Netflix)The thing I love about Ozark is that it was most popular circa Spring 2020, during the beginning of the pandemic. It was sufficiently dark and gruesome to resonate with our collective sensibilities at the time. It’s like Tiger King in that way. It was a lens onto the society’s consciousness. But it’s not like Tiger King in that under no circumstances should they have made a second season. This season of Ozark is still great.Reacher (Amazon Prime)I love Tom Cruise movies. But I’d argue that his three worst movies of all time were: Jack Reacher 1, Jack Reacher 2, and Knight & Day. Maybe honorary mention to the third M:I. He was a terrible Jack Reacher! Why? It’s simple. Tom Cruise is like four-foot-eight. And Jack Reacher is supposed to be a six-foot-eleven brick shithouse. Also, Tom Cruise is a talker. Jacker Reacher is not a talker!! This new guy, Alan Ritchson, is the two things Tom Cruise could never be: large and terse. So the show is worth watching just because this guy is so fascinatingly shaped. But more than that, the show rectified the sins of Tom Cruise. Is it the best of all possible action shows? No, it is not. But it very well may be the best of all possible adaptions of Lee Child’s Jack Reacher. And that’s a lot more than Tom Cruise can say.Jeen-Yuhs (Netflix)Highly recommend. This isn’t a normal documentary. Basically, there was this dude who quit his job to start following Kanye around with a camera before he was famous. The guy was basically like “I know this Kanye guy is going places” and so became a part of his entourage and so where was there for all these crazy moments early in Kanye’s career. And so it’s a rare opportunity to see the process of one of the most creative artists of our generation (it’s an accurate label, whatever else you want to say about the guy) before he was acknowledged as such. Inventing Anna (Netflix)I put off watching this for a long time. I thought it looked super annoying. I was totally wrong! It was astonishingly good. Like, so good that you find yourself wondering throughout how someone created something that’s this compelling. Definitely watch it if you’re looking for a great binge.MoviesThe AlpinistI won’t say anything about this other than it was really good. I went into it with no expectations other than that (thanks to my mate Tristan for the recommendation) and was heavily rewarded. Enjoy!Apocalypse NowFF Coppola’s cinematic adaption of Heart of Darkness set in war-torn Vietnam. Extended essay coming soon.“Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a mission, and for my sins, they gave me one.”UnforgivenThis film is considered the “directorial masterpiece” of Clint Eastwood. At least that’s what Amazon Prime’s blurb tells me. But I think it’s accurate! If you know me, you know that I love Westerns (particularly Western novels; I’ll watch / read anything with a cowboy). And this is one of the highest quality ones I’ve come across. The narrative structure is pristine. The central motif of the movie of is how hard it is to actually pull the trigger of a gun to kill someone. All of which builds to a point where that is the crucial consideration at stake. This is another instance where no character’s choice is between the outcomes of “good” and “bad”. Every possible outcome is a bad one, even when they’re all just trying to do the right thing. But by the end, they only thing they achieved are different levels of bad.Taylor Tomlinson’s “Look at You” specialI’d peg her as my choice for the comedic voice of my specific stratum of millennial-hood (she was born in 1993, which is an important year for humanity because it was the one I was born in). Her new special is out. If you want to talk about themes of “Fucked Up A” versus “Fucked Up B” she’s got you covered—and with a higher density of laughs than other content mentioned here. This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.Tom Pettigrew is professor emeritus in the psychology department at UC Santa Cruz. He is best known as the main proponent of one of social psychology’s most prominent ideas: intergroup contact theory. In this episode, we talk about how Tom was expelled from Jr High school for standing up to a racist teacher, the formative experiences that sparked his insights into intergroup contact, the mentorship of Gordon Allport, his extended trip to apartheid South Africa, how Allport's four factors for positive intergroup contact really came from Tom himself, how Tom's thinking about intergroup contact has changed over the years, and the role of social psychological in large-scale political and societal change.Like this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

At the height of the company’s expansion, in the mid-2000s, Starbucks had a problem. By 2007, they were opening, on average, seven new stores per day. These stores required employees, and the company was hiring up to fifteen-hundred new ones each week. For lots of these new workers, Starbucks was their first job. Many of them were fresh from a high school classroom. It’s a tough transition. An eight hour shift serving hot drinks to over-caffeinated consumers is not a uniformly gratifying experience. There were certain skills they needed to learn. Most of them had to do with the graceful reception of verbal abuse from angry customers.As a solution, Starbucks developed a series of employee training programs. Under this new regiment, employees would spend up to fifty hours in Starbucks classrooms during their first year alone. They would complete take-home exercises, filling out page after page of a company-wide workbook. What did they learn? Strategies like the LATTE method. When a customer presents an issue to an employee, the appropriate response is to: Listen, Acknowledge, Take action, Thank the customer for identifying the problem, and Explain why it occurred in the first place. The exercises were designed to cultivate self-discipline, the ability to keep cool under pressure. The training served the same purpose for baristas behind the bar that Rocky Balboa’s did in the boxing ring. They know they’re going to take a pummeling; it’s all about having a plan for what to do in response.Starbucks had on their hands a tricky problem of alignment. The company’s goal was that a customer should be able to enter any one of their tens of thousands of stores around the world and have approximately the same quality of experience. They needed to align this high-end homogeneity with the messy heterogeneity of human behavior. And there’s only one way to make that happen. Habit.This is the argument made by Charles Duhigg in Chapter 5 of his best-selling book, The Power of Habit. Duhigg looks at this anecdote and sees a story about how far habit can take you or your company. Starbucks, he writes, “spent millions of dollars developing curriculums to train employees on self-discipline. Executives wrote workbooks that, in effect, serve as guides to how to make willpower a habit in workers’ lives. Those curriculums are, in part, why Starbucks has grown from a sleepy Seattle company into a behemoth with more than seventeen thousand stores and revenues of more than $10 billion a year.” What the whole case study boils down to is, in Duhigg’s words, that “Starbucks taught their employees how to handle moments of adversity by giving them willpower habit loops.”The overall thrust of Duhigg’s book is that “there’s nothing you can’t do if you get the habits right.” He is by no means the first or only one to make this claim. In his blockbuster Atomic Habits, James Clear writes that “Success is the product of daily habits—not once-in-a-lifetime transformations.” For Clear, the habitual mode is something to be celebrated, an occasion for giddy exultation. “The only way to become excellent,” he writes, “is to be endlessly fascinated by doing the same thing over and over. You have to fall in love with boredom.” Operating from a similar premise, Cal Newport, in Deep Work, views the culmination of his enterprise as “transforming your work habits” to reflect the principles outlined in his book. Don’t even get me started on Stephen Covey's Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. The name says it all, as if “effective people” were mere bundles of habitually executed actions. Together, millions of copies of these books are sold each year. If we are what we repeatedly do, then writers of self-help books are a promise to improve one’s habits.But these authors aren’t the only ones who are smitten with habit. William James, the father of experimental psychology, came to this conclusion long before the modern self-helpers, writing in 1887 that “we must make automatic and habitual, as early as possible, as many useful actions as we can, and guard against the growing into ways that are likely to be disadvantageous to us, as we should guard against the plague.”Pop quiz: Which James—William or Clear—wrote that “the quality of our lives often depends on the quality of our habits”? The line was penned by the latter. But the former would probably have agreed.Our culture venerates habit. And in an important sense, people like Charles Duhigg are right. There is power in habit. It’s absolutely true that the most efficient way to accomplish any particular task is to consolidate optimal actions into habits. This is what makes habit so seductive. Ideal habits imply frictionless productivity. It is the cultivation of a mental environment in which thinking about what you are doing never gets in the way of actually doing it. There is no doubt that habits are important, and that good ones get you further than bad ones.But also there’s something off about this argument. It seems strange: the idea that, as Duhigg and his contemporaries argue, success is a simple function of our habits. After all, the ultimate habitual agent is not a human. It’s a machine. It would take as input those tasks it needs to do. Then it would neatly, without contemplation or complaint, execute the most efficient set of actions. A machine like that could churn out caramel macchiatos all day, no questions asked.C’mon, Mr Duhigg. Does that sound like success to you?In general, psychologists divide personality into five categories: conscientiousness, neuroticism, openness to experience, extraversion, and agreeableness. These are known as the “Big Five” inventory of traits. Together, these traits make for a rough description of an individual’s personality. In general, the Big Five inventory is considered by psychologists to be a useful and legitimate construct—as opposed to, say, the Myers-Briggs test, which is totally meaningless.The most thoroughly studied of all these traits is conscientiousness. Here’s the definition of conscientiousness on Wikipedia. I think it sums it up pretty well. Conscientiousness is:the personality trait of being careful, or diligent. Conscientiousness implies a desire to do a task well, and to take obligations to others seriously. Conscientious people tend to be efficient and organized as opposed to easy-going and disorderly. They exhibit planned rather than spontaneous behavior; and they are generally dependable. It is manifested in characteristic behaviors such as being neat, and systematic; also including such elements as carefulness, thoroughness, and deliberation (the tendency to think before acting).Study after study suggests that this dimension of personality is a key predictor of important personal outcomes. For example, a recent meta-analysis of studies across one hundred years showed that conscientiousness is the most powerful non-cognitive predictor—as opposed to cognitive predictors, such as IQ—of positive outcomes in the workplace. This meta-analysis combined the results of over 2,500 individual studies, which together included 1.1 million participants. And what did the authors of this study find? In the 175 work-performance categories they looked at, they found that higher conscientiousness scores predicted better job performance outcomes 98% of the time. They spend the majority of their paper breaking down the different aspects of job performance that conscientiousness affects. But the overall point is clear. Conscientiousness is key.Now, this is precisely in line with Charles Duhigg’s argument. Did you notice the first category on the left-hand column of the figure? Study habits. It’s also the strongest correlation of all those categories (besides whatever “commendable behavior” is, shown at the bottom). Conscientiousness is effectively the personality trait that measures our ability to form and stick with good habits.Following that line of reasoning, Starbucks’ program to develop the “habit of self-discipline” is an exercise in conscientiousness. Diligent? Efficient and organized? Planned rather than spontaneous behavior? Replace “conscientiousness” with “an ideal barista” in the Wikipedia definition and the paragraph still makes sense. These are exactly the muscles of conscientiousness which that program is trying to strengthen.Okay, then. Score one for the ‘higg. That’s the #PowerOfHabit. Right? Here’s the part of the story Charles Duhigg doesn’t tell.In 1983, before the global proliferation of Starbucks, one of their employees took a trip. Starbucks was then a small regional coffee roaster, with four locations in the Seattle area. The company’s big plans for expansion topped out at opening a few stores in nearby Portland, Oregon. In the early eighties, you couldn’t go into Starbucks and order a cup of coffee. They only sold the beans.This employee had been tasked by one of the founders with attending a coffee trade show in Milan, as a representative of the company. As he recalls: “That’s when I was walking the streets of Milan and every twenty, thirty yards you are intercepted, literally, with an Italian coffee bar.”“I walked in to all of these places and kept seeing the theatre, the romance, and the nectar of the gods which is espresso... What really struck me was the sense of community. I started going to these stores almost the same time every day and I would start seeing the same people. I started realizing this was a third place between home and work. But the beverage was the draw.”The lesson this employee drew from the experience was that “Starbucks was in the coffee business but perhaps the wrong part of the business.”That employee? Starbucks CEO and visionary Howard Schultz. When he returned to Seattle, Schultz told the founders that Starbucks should begin making espresso drinks, like they do in Italy. The founders demurred. They didn’t buy Schultz’s vision. It wasn’t what they had in mind for the company. Their trajectory at the time was totally out of alignment with what Schultz was proposing. Besides, espresso machines were expensive. It seemed unlikely that they’d be able to make back their initial up-front investment on the margins of a few cups of coffee. In short, they wanted to continue doing things the way they’d been doing them. They wanted to stick with habit.But for more than a year, Schultz kept on insisting and eventually the founders relented.“I think they just said, ‘Okay, get this kid out of our face. We’re opening a new store on the corner of 4th and Spring,’ in 1985. It was fifteen-hundred square feet, and they said, ‘We’ll give you five hundred feet of the fifteen-hundred to open up an Italian coffee bar in the store.’ And that was it. I mean, we opened the 4th and Spring Starbucks store with our first coffee bar. Overnight, we had hundreds of customers every day. And we introduced caffè latte to the city of Seattle, basically.”The coffee bar was so successful that it soon superseded the income from Starbuck’s whole-bean sales. But the results of the experiment failed to move the founders. It wasn’t how they envisioned their company being run. It was such a stark departure from their current mode of operation. And so they told Schultz, “We don’t want to repeat this.” Schultz was taken aback. “I was devastated. I almost didn’t believe it at first. Like, really. Are you serious?”Schultz decided to quit Starbucks. He informed the founders of his decision to leave and start his own coffee bar. To their credit, the founders said, “Well, if you do that, we’d like to invest.” The deal was, of course, that he had to use Starbucks-roasted beans in his coffee bar. Schultz named it Il Giornale, after the Milanese newspaper.After opening his first coffee bar, in Seattle’s Columbia Tower in 1986, Schultz went back to Italy. Over the next five years, he toured the country, visiting by his own estimation over 500 espresso bars. When in the late 80s Howard Schultz bought Starbucks and took over as CEO, he built the company on his concept of the “third place”—beyond home and work—inspired by the coffee bars of Milan. It was only then that Starbucks began to expand into the ubiquitous coffee retailer as we know it today.So, was habit important for Starbucks going from nine-thousand stores to ten, or fourteen-thousand to fifteen? Absolutely. But if habit reigned supreme, the company would never have gotten to that point. If habits had won out, Starbucks would still be a half dozen shops in the Pacific Northwest. They would’ve never even begun selling cups of coffee.How do we square this with our findings about conscientiousness? Isn’t conscientiousness the most important non-cognitive predictor of work-place success? Yes, but there’s an exception. I pulled a Duhigg on you. I left out an important part of the story.There was a further layer to the findings from the meta-analysis of conscientiousness. The exception to the rule had to do with the complexity of the problems faced in the workplace. Conscientiousness is the single most powerful non-cognitive predictor in the workplace—but only in low-complexity environments. In high-complexity jobs, conscientiousness matters far less.Here’s what that figure looks like:This was one of the key distinctions the authors drew in the paper. They argued that the reason conscientiousness is such a strong predictor of success has to do with things like: a preference for a stable environment, the ability to persevere in the face of difficulty, a well-developed muscle of self-restraint to avoid distractions, and the motivation to achieve conventional goals. They boil all these considerations down to the low- versus high-complexity distinction.Working in a job that is “high-complexity” is neither a good thing nor a bad thing. “Low-complexity” does not mean that it’s not difficult or doesn’t require intelligence. It simply means that the rules don’t change. In some jobs the kinds of problems that you have to solve are similar from day-to-day, while in others the structure of those problems can be drawn from a much larger range. Making coffee is, under this rubric, a “low-complexity” job. That’s not to say that the job isn’t exhausting or demanding or even different every day. It totally is. But the kinds of problems that you face occur over and over again. That’s the environment in which conscientiousness matters most, and in which habit is king.Another example of a “low-complexity” job is professional athlete. This makes sense. The rules of a game or competition are stable, so almost by definition the problems faced by athletes are repetitive. The hoop doesn’t move, and the goal never gets any bigger or smaller. So we would expect to see that professional athletes score high in conscientiousness. In a 2019 study, a group of Australian researchers conducted a large-scale analysis of Twitter data. They used people’s tweets to predict their personality scores on the Big Five inventory. Then they matched those scores with the occupations listed in their bio. As we’d expect, they found that professional athletes, like good baristas, score high on conscientiousness. Meanwhile, software engineers were, by comparison, much lower on conscientiousness. They showed a similar trend on a number of personality traits, with software engineers also being low in agreeableness and extraversion. The only personality trait on which the trend flipped was openness to experience.In general, athletes were extremely low on openness. This also makes sense. In order to be good at what they do, they have to abide by the same strict training regiment, day after day, week after week. You don’t want a swimmer to take a month off from training to wonder what life might be like as a tennis player. You want them to stay the course.But while the software developers scored near the bottom on the other personality dimensions, they scored near the top of the chart on openness. Why? It’s hard to say for sure from these data. But as a software developer, the nature of the problems you face varies dramatically. To import a metaphor from a different problem-solving domain, one day you could be doing sudoku, another day you might be faced with a crossword, and on yet another you might find yourself unscrambling anagrams. It’s a high-complexity job. And in high-complexity environments the key is not to be maximally self-disciplined and to cultivate the ultimate habitual routine. You need to be open to new things, new ideas, and ready for whatever comes your way in the moment. After all, isn’t that the trait Schultz was relying on when he brought back his experiences from Italy? It definitely wasn’t his propensity to stay within prescribed bounds and stay the current course. It was his openness to the ideas he was encountering abroad.Whether conscientiousness or openness is more important to your job depends entirely on what you do. In our effort to cultivate optimally efficient habits, I think we’ve begun to overlook some of its downsides. There is a price to be paid for habit’s seductive promise of frictionless productivity. Habit can also be a prison. We get locked in the same way of doing things, the same way of thinking about others, the same beliefs about the way things ought to work and the way they in fact do. The price of eliminating friction is that we become inflexible. We can’t change course. It becomes hard to escape from the habits of our daily routine. As efficient as it is to rely on habit, the opposite mode is also necessary.In my work on this Substack, I will argue that we get just as much out of this radically unhabitual mode as we do from the frictionless habitual mode. I will also argue that many of the issues that come up in the course of everyday existence are due to entrenchment in habit. Habit is in many ways the enemy of creativity—a demon on our shoulder whispering to us that the best way to do things is the way we did them yesterday. It encourages us to rely on habits of mind in prejudging others, in our beliefs about the world, and in the stories we tell about ourselves and others. Most of all, habit is antithetical to meaning. Pure habitual routine is not the realm of the human, but the mechanical. Habits allow us to go through life without actually appreciating it.Mr Duhigg is correct that habits are powerful. But they are only powerful in situations where the problems are well-defined—where you know what you want, and it’s fairly straightforward how to achieve it. But that hardly suggests that “there’s nothing you can’t do if you get the habits right.” Not all jobs ask you do something for which optimal habits are the answer. Even less so is that the case in other areas of life.To me, the larger point here is that modern society tells us that in order to be successful, we need to form optimal habits. In most cases, we’re given some sort of socially-accepted story about what “success” looks like and what sort of habits are required to obtain it. Rarely are we given the space to re-evaluate the validity of the instructions we’ve received. We just go along with it. What other option do we have?Perhaps what we need isn’t a more efficient route to success. Perhaps what we need is a better definition of what it means to succeed. This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

I started my podcast two months before I began my PhD. That was August 2019: two and a half years ago. When I started it, I knew that I wanted to have a career in ideas. The motivation behind the show was to talk to people I looked up to about the decisions they made back when they were in my position. I wanted to know the things they were doing at my age that led them to where they are today. I’ve since done more than 85 episodes and had the opportunity to talk to many of my academic and intellectual heroes. It’s been a blast.But now my PhD is almost done, and I’m looking toward the future. I don’t want to say I know everything about how to succeed as an academic or author. But to some extent, I did what I set out to do. I learned from the people I look up to most. I got to ask them about the choices they made during graduate school. Have I been able to uniformly apply these principles and insights? Not really. None of the people, for instance, had to deal with a worldwide pandemic during their PhD. Also, the academic career pipeline today is just different than it was twenty years ago, and wayyy different than it was fifty years ago. Nonetheless, I feel like I got what I was going to get out of that project. It’s not that I’m uninterested in the personal stories of scientists and intellectuals now. I still believe that ideas are inextricable from the personal experiences of the people who have them. That’s one of the reasons why Cognitive Revolution was about the “personal side of the intellectual journey”. But going forward, this no longer feels like the dimension of greatest growth for me. Partly, I’ve exhausted my list of heroes that I wanted to talk to. Sure, I can always find more, but eventually it’s like, okay, what’s the point? Mostly, it’s just that I’m at a different stage now than I was when I started the podcast. It was a great vehicle of growth for me throughout the pandemic. In a way, it gave me the kind of academic advising I always wanted from my mentors but could never seem to get. At the highest points it made me feel connected to the wider academic community. At the lower points it served as evidence for why the whole academic endeavor isn’t worthwhile. Now I feel like I’ve grown as much as I’m going to from this approach. If I’m going to continue doing this kind of work—podcasting, writing, that sort of thing—I need an approach that can grow with me from where I am now into where I want to be in the future.And so I’m doing a complete overhaul of my podcasting and writing. In short, the goal is to establish the next level of clarity and specificity on the kind of topics I want to cover, and to distribute my writing and interviews in a way that reach the largest number of people interested in that topic. Call it a rebrand, fine. But it’s more than that. To me, it’s a signal of the intention to take my work to the next level; a rite of passage, like a graduation, to say that I’ve reached an important milestone and now it’s time to push myself to improve beyond where I’m currently at. My podcast until this point has been called Cognitive Revolution. It’s explored “the personal side of the intellectual journey.” My newsletter has been The New Kommers, and it’s explored whatever the f**k it occurs to me to talk about on any given week. Both of these will now be going by a new name.I call it “Against Habit.” The idea of being “against habit” is less a conclusion and more an approach. Our mainstream productivity wisdom tells us that the road to success is paved with optimal habits. If we can just instill our daily routines with good habits and divest ourselves of bad ones, then we’ll be happy, successful, and productive. I’m skeptical of this project. I think in our pursuit of frictionless productivity, we’ve missed some of the most important aspects of life. It’s this line of received wisdom that I want to push back on.In my writing, I will be exploring what cognitive science research has to say about what habits are good for—and what they are not. The main thing here is that in the common discourse, there’s not really a concept for the opposite of a “habit.” Therefore, we’re able to talk about habits as if they’re this holy grail of efficient behavior without having a clear image of what to compare them to. In cognitive science, such a concept exists. I’ll be covering it at length in future posts. I think it can bring a lot more depth to the way we conceptualize the role of habits in our everyday life.In my podcast, I will be talking to guests who can help me rethink my own entrenched habits—the good and the bad. These will be people who make me question the standard-operating-procedure of some aspect of my own life: whether it’s in work, romantic relationships, the pursuit of meaningful activity, listening to music, or even what I wear. I hope to talk to a lot of the same kinds of people I’ve been talking to for Cognitive Revolution; but I want to get into a whole different kind of subject matter.One of my driving principles in life is that the set of things I could potentially like is much larger than the set of things I currently do. So I’m constantly trying to find ways to make my experience of the world wider and deeper. To me, this is a fundamental aspect of what it means to be against habit: to think about our behavior not in terms of continuing to do what we’ve already done, but to find new ways of connecting with everything the world has to offer. This is the dimension on which I want to grow going forward. I think “Against Habit” is the right premise to help me do it from.So you can expect plenty of developments from me in the near future. Not just a new logo and that kind of stuff. But also a new approach to the material I’m producing. It’s not going to be a cut and dry swap. It’s not going to change overnight. There will be a transition between my current Cognitive Revolution content and the new stuff in line with Against Habit. I’m excited to share it with you. As always, thanks for your support. Stay tuned. This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.This week’s guest is Alan Fiske. Alan is a professor of anthropology at UCLA, who is known for his unique brand of mixing approaches from psychology and anthropology. He is the brother of Susan Fiske, a famous social psychologist and one of my first guests on this show. In this episode, we talk about growing up in an academic family, Alan joining the peace core to avoid the Vietnam draft, helping to eradicate smallpox in Congo, how travel and experiences abroad influenced decision to become an anthropologist, the tension between doing good in the work (embodied by his moither) and working with ideas (his father’s purview), how indentifying the commonalities Weber, Piaget, & Ricouer led to the development of Alan’s most influential theory, and the relationship between the fields of psychology and anthropology throughout Alan’s career.Like this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.My guest this week is Elizabeth Loftus. She is generally considered to be the most highly cited female psychologist of all time. She is also a controversial figure within the field. Her research has looked at the unreliability of eye witness metaphor and the nature of false memories. She’s used this compelling line of research to testify as an expert witness in court. Though she’s testified on behalf of a range of defendants, the most publicized cases she’s participated in have been high-profile men, such as Harvey Weinstein. She was the subject of a recent New Yorker profile, which delved into the legacy of this work—as well as providing detailed speculation on the root causes of why Beth is so drawn to the topic of false memories and why she’s dedicated so much of her career to bringing these topics to light in legal proceedings.In this conversation, we talked about Beth being the only woman in her mathematical psychology PhD program at Stanford; being voted least likely to succeed as a psychologist; finding a topic she actually cared about; finding a way to apply it; her first case applying psychology to legal proceedings. I also get Beth’s take on the NYer piece about her life, the controversy that’s followed her work, and whether there are limits to role that abstract knowledge can play in societal events.Like this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.This week’s guest is George Lakoff. George is one of the most highly cited cognitive scientists of all time, with his book Metaphors We Live By (co-authored with Mark Johnson) having been referenced in over 75,000 other scientific papers. George is best known for his work on how metaphor provides the structure of cognition, generally known as the “conceptual metaphors” framework, as well as his foundational ideas about the embodied mind. In last week’s episode, I talked with Annie Murphy Paul about her recent book, The Extended Mind, which draws heavily on the program of research of which Lakoff is a cornerstone. Lakoff is also politically very active, though we venture much into those topics in this conversation. In this episode our discussion mainly centers around George’s formative experiences—particularly in his childhood and adolescence; notable among them is the time he lived with a murder—as well as the genesis of his most famous ideas in cognitive science and linguistics (the latter starts around minute 40:00).Like this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.My guest today is Annie Murphy Paul. Annie is a science journalist, and she has a new book out. It’s getting a lot of press. She’s made the rounds on all the Big Idea podcasts. I listened to a bunch of them in prep for this episode. Three of my favorites were her talks with Adam Grant, Ezra Klein, and Scott Barry Kaufman (fun fact: AMP was actually SBK's very first guest on his podcast). They’re all great discussions, and so I tried to broach some new territory with Annie in our talk here. The basic argument of her book is about fundamentally rethinking the way we talk about the mind. Her book is called The Extended Mind, and its starting point is a paper of the same title by two philosophers, Andy Clark and David Chalmers. The basic line of argument is that we tend to think of the mind as a fundamentally bounded entity, where the bounds of thought are essentially between one’s ears. These philosophers, Annie, and the relevant academic literature, are saying: No, actually when you start to scrutinize the assumptions of that idea, the position doesn’t hold up very well. Actually our minds are inextricable from the world around us. Annie’s book is all about diving into why this is the case, and how it should change the way we interact with our surroundings.In preparation for this discussion, I revisited that original Clark and Chalmers paper from 1998. The point of the paper, as they see it, is an argument against semantic externalism. This is a philosophical position about whether the “meaning” of a word resides in our heads, or in the world. Philosophers like Hilary Putnam and Tyler Burge advanced this externalist position, with the key soundbite being Putnam’s quote: “Cut the pie any way you like, meaning just ain’t in the head.” In particular, Putnam has this famous thought experiment, called Twin Earth, which him and his contemporaries use as an argument that internalism is false and externalism is true (meaning just ain’t in the head). Clark and Chalmers are kind of saying: Look, it’s not just meaning that isn’t in the head. It’s all of cognition. They call this position active externalism. There’s a quote from the paper I really love. This is Clark and Chalmers talking about the details of Twin Earth: “When I believe that water is wet and my twin believes that twin water is wet, the external features responsible for the difference in our beliefs are distal and historical, at the other end of a lengthy causal chain. Features of the present are not relevant: if I happen to be surrounded by XYZ right now (maybe I have teleported to Twin Earth), my beliefs still concern standard water, because of my history.” I have only a modest notion of what the hell they’re talking about. But I just love how the more sophisticated a philosophical argument is, the deeper it gets into the finer points of just how wet water on twin earth is, and if you were doused in it would it feel equivalently wet to substance XYZ, and how do you know whether it’s really you or twin-you who feels this wetness. At any rate, what Clark and Chalmers are saying is that our relationship to the people, objects, and tool in our external environment is not passive. We are actively thinking through the environment, as we much as are thinking through our own neurons. They give the example of Tetris and how you’re actually rotating the shapes on screen, then seeing if they fit—rather than thinking about how they might fit and then rotating accordingly.That’s a brief primer on the philosophical origins of this concept. In my conversation with Annie, we also talk about how our minds extend into our social surroundings, why writing is a form of memory, the important ideas about the extended mind that people tend to gloss over, how this concept should affect American education, and how this concept changes the way we think about other people. We also battle it out over whether a dual monitor computer set up actually works like a second brain. It was a fun conversation, and I hope you enjoy it.Annie’s Three Books:Andy Clark: Natural-Born CyborgsAlva Noë: Out of Our HeadsMark Epistein: The Zen of TherapyLike this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.This is a conversation I’ve been wanting to have for a long time. I met Kevin several years ago, and it was a big moment for me. This was the first time I’d ever met a real author. Of course I said something foolish. Of course he has no recollection of such foolish statements. I’m a huge admirer of his first book, The Most Dangerous Book, which tells the story behind Ulysses—one of the most controversial manuscripts of all time. It’s got an incredible cast of characters from James Joyce to Hemingway to Ezra Pound to Sylvia Beach. That book really drew me into to Kevin’s style of writing and the way he’s able to bring social analysis to bear on literary and intellectual themes.Kevin Birmingham has a PhD in English from Harvard. He actually studied under Louis Menand, whom I’ve also had on the show and is one of my all-time favorite authors. In this conversation, I definitely ask Kevin about Menand’s influence—a bit toward the end. Kevin has won numerous awards including the PEN New England Award and the Truman Capote Award for Literary Criticism. The occasion for our conversation today is the publication of his new book, which came out in November 2021. It’s called The Sinner and the Saint, and it tells the story of the creative process behind Dostoevsky’s masterpiece Crime and Punishment. Since it’s a Russian novel, the creative process entails a great deal of suffering. The book also ties in the true story of how Dostoevsky’s thriller was inspired by the real life crimes of a Frenchman, Pierre François Lacenaire. (I’d like to imagine that all French criminal masterminds are named Pierre François.)Of course I’m a cognitive scientist by training, so I don’t have a lot of background in literary analysis. That’s one of the reasons why I’ve enjoyed Kevin’s books so much, helping me, as a layman, to understand books—at least aspects of books anyway—that I wouldn’t otherwise have the tools to grasp. There’s a passage I especially love from Kevin’s recent book: “One measure of Dostoevsky’s talent is that he could make something as small as a wink turn all the gears in a complex relationship. Porfiry’s tiniest movement is either an involuntary twitch or a cunning signal. Either it means nothing or it spells out Raskolnikov’s doom. He doesn’t know how to read it, and he can’t even tell if it happened. Raskolnikov wonders if all of his blinks look like winks, if the inspector’s eyes always gleam on a horizon between empty sky and unsounded fathoms. He begins to scrutinize every detail: the way the inspector positions his body, the tone of his voice, the way he emphasized the word she. In Dostoevsky’s murder story, the detective is the mystery.”At any rate, talking to Kevin is like having a private seminar with your favorite professor. He’s able to spin some really great answers. It was a fun conversation, and I’m really looking forward to sharing it with you!Kevin’s Three Books:James Baldwin: Notes of a Native SonJames Joyce: UlyssesFyodor Dostoevsky: Crime and PunishmentLike this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.My guest today is someone very special. I worked in his lab for two years, and he did a lot to form my relationship with cognitive science. It started back when I was an undergrad, and I went to the Cognitive Science Society conference in Berlin. There was this professor there, and I was totally arrested by his approach to studying the mind. He was using sophisticated computational models informed by AI to understand the cognitive processes underlying human thought. His name was Josh Tenenbaum. I became obsessed with his work. The following year I went back to the Cognitive Science Society conference, this time in Montreal. My express purpose was to insinuate myself in Josh’s inner circle. I approached him on the first morning of the conference, and he said he had 15 minutes for us to chat. Mostly that chat consisted of his expounding upon his ideas about how the mind is structured and how this structure develops through childhood. But then at the end as we were wrapping up he paused for a moment and said: “I have this post-doc. He’s really good. He just applied to faculty jobs at Berkeley, Harvard, and Columbia and got offers at all three. He’ll be starting a lab at Harvard next fall. His name is Sam Gershman.”From then on I made it my mission to end up in Sam’s lab. The story has a lot of twists and turns but suffice to say that I pestered Sam for two straight years, reminding him of my existence via email and inquiring if he had any available research opportunities. For two years, nothing happened. Then one day while I was living in Belgium, I was sitting in my underwear watching Old Country for No Men. I got an email. It was from Sam. The subject line: “Still looking for a job?” His lab manager had unexpectedly quit. He was looking for someone to fill the role in short order. He knew I was the kind of individual who was infrequently employed enough to be available. And so I started working in Sam’s lab in spring 2016. I experienced a lot of ups and downs in those two years I worked for him. I learned a lot about what I liked and didn’t like about research, about what I wanted to do and didn’t want to do, what I needed from a work environment and what I could live without. But his general program of research combining Bayesian models and reinforcement learning to understand the neural and computational basis of behavior has influenced me more than any other single researcher. He also gave me a chance, one that’s done a lot to get me where I am today. For that, I owe him an awful lot.Anyone who has spent any time around Sam (or taken a peak at his Google scholar page) can attest that he is likely the single most prolific individual in all of psychology. In his peak years of productivity at Harvard, it felt like he would publish the number of papers in a year other researchers could expect to publish in a decade. In this conversation, this is one of the things I wanted to press him on. He’s always been a little coy about this line of inquiry, preferring instead to keep discussions on the finer points of statistical distributions and inference problems. I pushed a bit more to talk about his process and the way he thinks about producing his work.We also talked about cognitive science in general. Despite his pretty well-defined lane for formal research, he has uncommon breadth as a scholar. He is interested in a lot, and he’s worked on many different kinds of projects (including, as I allude to in the conversation, a series of video shorts which are—shall we say?—rather avant-garde in taste). So we went into a bit of cognitive science history (including Sam's favorite historical cognitive scientist), and what the enterprise of cogsci should look like in general.Finally, Sam recently published a book. It’s called What Makes Us Smart: The Computational Logic of Human Cognition. We cover the overarching thesis of the book, about the two organizing principles of human cognition. We explore the potential counterarguments to that thesis, and I ask him about what people who are already familiar with the work (as well as those who aren’t) can get expect to get out of it.Sam’s Three Books:John Cage: SilenceThomas Kuhn: The Structure of Scientific RevolutionsLiu Cixin: The Three Body ProblemPapers we mentioned:The molecular memory code and synaptic plasticityLike this episode? Here’s another one to check out:In my conversation with Sam, we also mention the work of Randy Gallistel:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.This is the second part of my conversation with Randy Gallistel. In the first part, we talk about his ideas around why the neuroscience of memory is completely inadequate to the task of understanding… memory. In this episode, we get into the backstory on those ideas, as well as Randy’s major influences. We talk about the influence of foundational experiments by Tony Deutsch, why neuroscientists “squirm” when you bring up the problem of representation, which of Randy’s research projects didn't work out the way he thought, how his academic mentor introduced him to his future wife, and what a good theory should not look like.Randy’s Three Books:The Eighth Day of Creation, Horace Freeland Judson The Logic of Life, Francois JacobSpikes: Exploring the Neural Code, Rieka et alHonorary mention: Endless Forms Most Beautiful, Sean B CarrollBooks we talked about: Randy’s Memory and the Computational BrainThe Structural Basis of Behavior, J. Anthony DeutschPapers we talked about: Randy’s recent paper on the Physical Basis of MemoryLike this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.Randy Gallistel has made a career (at least partly) out of making the neuroscientific community angry. He’s made broad, sweeping claims that cut to the core of the neuroscience of learning and memory. The problem with his claims is not that they’re broad and sweeping. The problem is that they might be right. In particular, he’s taking aim at neuroscience for not grappling with the symbolic nature of cognition. The neuroscience of memory, he argues, doesn’t even acknowledge the basis existence of “facts.” That is, there’s no neural theory of what a fact is, or how the brain might store it. In this episode, we talk about Randy’s claims in this space of topics. This was the second half of a much longer conversation. In a follow-up episode, I’ll publish the first half—which goes into the backstory of how Randy developed these ideas and the major figures who influenced him. Randy’s Three Books:The Eighth Day of Creation, Horace Freeland Judson The Logic of Life, Francois JacobSpikes: Exploring the Neural Code, Rieka et alHonorary mention: Endless Forms Most Beautiful, Sean B CarrollBooks we talked about: Randy’s Memory and the Computational BrainThe Structural Basis of Behavior, J. Anthony DeutschPapers we talked about: Randy’s recent paper on the Physical Basis of MemoryLike this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.Philip Johnson-Laird is professor emeritus at Princeton University. He is one of the most influential cognitive scientists of all time, best known for developing the idea of “mental models.” Though if you really want to get a sense of how eminent he is, you have to look no further than his email address. You can find him at Phil at Princeton. That’s right. He is the Phil at Princeton University. It was a huge honor to talk to him for this conversation, as he’s long been one of my favorite cognitive scientists. My favorite paper of his is a lesser known article from 2002 called How Jazz Musicians Improvise. It’s part of a long-standing interest of his in understanding how our minds create complex, meaningful sequences—in this case, strings of notes—on the go. Phil didn’t start off planning to become an academic (he left school at age 15), and before he got on the academic track he worked as a jazz pianist. In this conversation we go deep into Phil’s background as a musician, and how that influenced his ideas about the mind. We also talk about his background working miscellaneous jobs for 10 years before starting university, marching in protests led by Bertrand Russell, the mentorship of Peter Wason, Phil’s first encounters with cognitive science, his relationship with the great George A. Miller, the genesis of the idea of mental models, how Phil’s understand of mental models has changed over the past forty years, and what the question of how jazz musicians improvise can tell us about how the mind works. Phil’s Three Books:Bertrand Russell’s Problems of PhilosophyChomsky’s Syntactic StructuresMiller, Galanter, & Pribram’s Plans and the Structure of BehaviorBooks we talked about: George Miller’s Psychology: The Science of Mental LifeBertrand Russell’s History of Western PhilosophyWason & Johnson-Laird’s Thinking and ReasoningPapers we talked about: Phil’s paper on Musical dissonancePhil’s 1980 paper on Mental Models in Cognitive Science, from the first meeting of the cognitive science societyPhil’s paper on How jazz musicians improviseLike this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.I am excited to introduce my first return guest on the show, Brian Christian. I knew from the very first time we talked that I wanted to do a part two with him. This wasn’t through any great feat of perspicacity. It was primarily because we didn’t even get the opportunity to talk about his latest book, The Alignment Problem. In the first conversation, we talked about Brian’s background in poetry and computer science. We talked at length about how he became a writer and the process behind his first book, The Most Human Human. Now in this conversation we go deep on The Alignment Problem. The book’s been out for more than a year now, and it’s gotten some pretty good coverage. One of my favorite interviews Brian did was with Ezra Klein, which is definitely worth checking out as well. I tried to get aspects of Brian’s work that haven’t been covered as much in previous discussions. Overall, the book is about the development of artificial intelligence, and throughout each chapter we see AI become increasingly capable of accomplishing more nuanced tasks—and, importantly, tasks which become increasingly embedded into the fabric of our society. Whereas a lot of my interviews on Cognitive Revolution go deep on an author’s backstory, this one is very much focused on content.And make sure to check out Brian’s new audiobook—Algorithms to Work By, available via Audible—when it comes out in February!Brian’s Books:The Alignment ProblemAlgorithms to Live ByThe Most Human HumanBooks we talked about: Michael Tomasello’s Cultural Origins of Human CognitionNick Bostrom’s Superintelligence (well, by implication… when we mentioned AI safety books that “hit you over the head” with their thesis)Like this episode? Here’s another one to check out:As well as my original conversation with Brian:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet the show @CogRevPod or me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.I first learned of Charles' work when I saw a notice for his most recent book—Gods of the Upper Air: How a Circle of Renegade Anthropologists Reinvented Race, Sex, and Gender in the Twentieth Century. I saw this, and I was like: a general audience book about the history of anthropology—sign me up! I preordered it straight away. As listeners of the show will know, even though I'm a psychologist by training I have a not so secret obsession with anthropologists. And as hoped, it turned out to be a great book. It tells a story about Franz Boaz, the father of American cultural anthropology—and his group of students that changed the face of anthropology in the first half of the twentieth century. This includes: Margaret Mead, Ruth Benedict, Zora Neale Hurston, Gregory Bateson, and a whole host of others. Charles is not a trained anthropologist. He's a professor of international affairs and government at Georgetown. But his wife is an anthropologist, and that's how he got turned on to this story. His initial interests were in former soviet states. In particular, one of his previous books was on the history of the Caucasus. And as some of you may also know, I spent the entire second year of my PhD taking Georgian language, and my partner and I often throw elaborate Georgian feasts serving Georgian wine and preparing a great deal of Georgian food. At any rate, it was clear to me that this was a guy I really wanted to meet and talk to. I really enjoyed our conversation, as I've certainly come to look up to Charles and his work in more ways than one.Like this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet the show @CogRevPod or me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

I've been a fan of Susanna for a long time following her on her social media. She's one of my favorite personalities in science communication, and it's been impressive and inspiring to watch her grow her platform over the last few years. She just recently graduated with her PhD in microbiology from University of North Carolina. During her time in grad school, she founded PhD Balance, which seeks to raise awareness about the prevalence of mental health issues in graduate school by sharing stories and building communities. She is currently manager of engagement and communications at Xontogeny, which is a bio-tech accelerator—taking seed-stage biotech startups and helping them to grow. In this conversation, we talk finishing up one's grad school work and making sense of how to take the next step. We start off talking about Susanna's recent move across the US, and her experience graduating during March 2020. It's at this point that I ask Susanna a rather subversive question, and from there we talk about growing as a person during grad school, Susanna's own story of mental health in grad school which motivated her to found PhD balance, and her strategies for productivity: from hanging out with her dogs, to organizing her to-do list. It was a conversation I really enjoyed! You can find Susanna at susannalharris.com and on Twitter/Instagram @susannalharris. You can find more about my work at codykommers.substack.com and on socials @codykommers. Thanks for listening!

I've been following Nicole's work for a long time, and I'm a big fan. She's developed a platform for her writing as well as a presence on social media. It's been cool to watch her do it. Nicole has a PhD from Oakland University in psychology with a specialization in evolution and human development. Most of her recent work focuses that expertise on the area of education. She's also a prolific reader. It's something she takes seriously as a part of her identity, and she wears it really well. I've been following her book reviews for a long time in other venues, but she just recently started a new forum for them at bookmarkedreads.substack.com/. In this conversation, we talked about Nicole's experiences excelling in academia then transcending it, her approach to picking new books (it always starts with the cover), as well as strategies for getting one's work and ideas out to a broader audience. She's a really cool individual, and I'm excited to see where her work takes her in the future!

Tara Thiagarajan is the Founder and Chief Scientist of Sapien Labs. Based in Washington, DC, Sapien Labs is a non-profit organization whose mission is to take brain diversity seriously. Most research in psychology and neuroscience treats the brain as a kind of monolithic entity, as if every brain were the same. But we know that's not true: there are important differences in the brain not only between individuals, but within the same individual from day-to-day. We also know that psychology and neuroscience have historically focused on a skewed sample of mostly white, mostly American, mostly undergraduate participants. Tara's goal with Sapien Labs is to truly account for what it means to look at differences in brains among all people on the planet. One of their in-progress projects is the Human Brain Diversity Project. Over the next five years, this project will "build an open database of 40,000 individuals across 4 countries and continents consisting of EEG recordings along with extensive information about demographics, lifestyle, technology use, diet and cognitive and mental health aspects." One of their papers, published this year in Nature Scientific Reports, showed the effect of "stimulus poverty" on brain physiology. They showed that the different stimuli people encounter on an average day—from phone use, to travel, to reading, and beyond—correlate with different physiological signatures in the brain, as measured by EEG. I found Tara's projects, as well as her overall story, very fascinating. I'm excited to see how those projects continue to develop in the coming years. More info: codykommers.com/post/73-tara-thiagarajan

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.Tara Thiagarajan is the Founder and Chief Scientist of Sapien Labs. Based in Washington, DC, Sapien Labs is a non-profit organization whose mission is to take brain diversity seriously. Most research in psychology and neuroscience treats the brain as a kind of monolithic entity, as if every brain were the same. But we know that's not true: there are important differences in the brain not only between individuals, but within the same individual from day-to-day. We also know that psychology and neuroscience have historically focused on a skewed sample of mostly white, mostly American, mostly undergraduate participants. Tara's goal with Sapien Labs is to truly account for what it means to look at differences in brains among all people on the planet. One of their in-progress projects is the Human Brain Diversity Project. Over the next five years, this project will "build an open database of 40,000 individuals across 4 countries and continents consisting of EEG recordings along with extensive information about demographics, lifestyle, technology use, diet and cognitive and mental health aspects." One of their papers, published this year in Nature Scientific Reports, showed the effect of "stimulus poverty" on brain physiology. They showed that the different stimuli people encounter on an average day—from phone use, to travel, to reading, and beyond—correlate with different physiological signatures in the brain, as measured by EEG. I found Tara's projects, as well as her overall story, very fascinating. I'm excited to see how those projects continue to develop in the coming years. Like this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

Andy Luttrell is the kingpin of a content empire. His work spans from podcasts (Opinion Science) to YouTube (catchy summaries of key psych topics) to online courses (which have been taken tens of thousands of times on platforms such as Udemy) to all sorts of other stuff. He is also—and I suppose this is technically his day job—an Assistant Professor of Psychological Science at Ball State University. His academic work centers on how people form and change their opinions, and he's a lot of fun to talk to. In this episode I ask him how he's able to create such a large amount of really high quality content so consistently while ALSO being a professor while ALSO being a new father. We talk about magic, and how a love of performance still pervades Andy's work today. And also we go down several tangents discussing tricks of the trades in podcasting and other common areas of interest. I really enjoyed talking to Andy and found myself impressed by how well he carries himself in front of a microphone. I hope you'll feel the same! More info: codykommers.com/post/72-andy-luttrell

This is Cognitive Revolution, my show about the personal side of the intellectual journey. Each week, I interview an eminent scientist, writer, or academic about the experiences that shaped their ideas. The show is available wherever you listen to podcasts.Andy Luttrell is the kingpin of a content empire. His work spans from podcasts (Opinion Science) to YouTube (catchy summaries of key psych topics) to online courses (which have been taken tens of thousands of times on platforms such as Udemy) to all sorts of other stuff. He is also—and I suppose this is technically his day job—an Assistant Professor of Psychological Science at Ball State University. His academic work centers on how people form and change their opinions, and he's a lot of fun to talk to. In this episode I ask him how he's able to create such a large amount of really high quality content so consistently while ALSO being a professor while ALSO being a new father. We talk about magic, and how a love of performance still pervades Andy's work today. And also we go down several tangents discussing tricks of the trades in podcasting and other common areas of interest. I really enjoyed talking to Andy and found myself impressed by how well he carries himself in front of a microphone. I hope you'll feel the same!Like this episode? Here’s another one to check out:I’d love to know what you thought of this episode! Just reply to this email or send a note directly to my inbox. Feel free to tweet me @CodyKommers. You can also leave a rating for the show on iTunes (or another platform). This is super helpful, as high ratings are one of the biggest factors platforms look at in their recommender system algorithms. The better the ratings, the more they present the show to new potential listeners.Also: If you’d like to unsubscribe from these weekly podcast emails, you can do so while still remaining on the email list that features my weekly writing. Thanks for following my work! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe

David Edmonds did his degrees in philosophy. Then he did something unexpected. He made money. I don't know how much. But, as far as I can tell, enough to reasonably call what has had so far a "career." He was a long-time broadcaster doing features at the BBC World Service. He also hosts and produces a number of popular podcasts, including Philosophy Bites, Philosophy 24/7, and (my personal favorite) Social Science Bites. He's also written a number of books—most notably Wittgenstein's Poker, which builds on his expertise in philosophy. I admire Dave's work because he's been able to find ways to turn his interests and ideas into opportunities and content. It's the kind of thing I'd like to do, so I asked him about how he went about doing it. He's a fun guy, and I know you'll enjoy the conversation.

Salma Mousa is an Assistant Professor of Political Science at Yale. She recently took that position after a post-doc in Stanford's Center for Democracy, Development, and Rule of Law, and the Immigration Policy Lab. She is a rising star in the field of political science and has published some of the field's highest profile papers in recent years. Her work centers around questions of how people build social cohesion after conflict. What drew me to her work is that it addresses some of our most significant social questions—about how reduce prejudice and violence, about how to make a society that works for everyone—in ways that are both theoretically motivated and have a grounding in the real world. Her work breathes new life into established theories, such as intergroup contact theory—the idea that the most effective way to reduce prejudice between groups is positive social contact. She recently published a solo-author paper in Science on "Building social cohesion between Christians and Muslims through soccer in Post-ISIS Iraq" which we discuss at length toward the end of the conversation. She is also an author on a paper about "The Mo Salah Effect" which showed genuine reductions in anti-Muslim prejudice in Liverpool after Mohamed Salah joined the city's football team. It's an awesome study, the details and backstory of which we also get into. One thing that stood out to me about Salma's work is that she does a smaller number of big, important project really well, rather than a bunch of smaller projects that aren't as meaningful. I so often feel that science (especially in psychology) rewards quantity over quality, and so it is incredibly inspiring to see someone who invests in big projects which will lead to actually important advancements in our understanding of human behavior. She was a pleasure to talk to, and I know you'll enjoy this conversation. More info: codykommers.com/post/70-salma-mousa

Coltan Scrivner: you may not know the name, but you will. Coltan is a first-gen college student, and one of the most impressive PhD students I've come across. His family is from Slaughterville, Oklahoma, and did his undergrad and masters in Oklahoma before beginning his PhD at the University of Chicago's Department of Comparative Human Development. He's carved out for himself a fascinating area of specialization: morbid curiosity. It's really cool to see him conceive of an academic niche and to position himself as the unequivocal world expert. He's under contract for Penguin Random House to write a trade book on morbid curiosity, which is how I found him originally. But what I didn't know before our interview is that he also has a TV series in the works. As a PhD student! Wow. In this conversation, I talked to him about his story of developing his interests and expertise, how he was able to be so productive so early in his career, and what his research has uncovered about why we're fascinated with death, horror, and violence. Coltan is definitely going places. Also, I watched The Autopsy of Jane Doe later that night on Coltan's recommendation. Let's just say... it lives up to Coltan's billing. His website: https://www.coltanscrivner.com/ More info: codykommers.com/podcast