Reading Response for 2/21/07

Bettina Barbier

The Feeling Brain

How Do Emotions Develop?

The articles for this week deal mainly with how a growing child’s mind and emotions develop and what kinds of things influence that development.

At issue in asking how mind and emotions develop along with a growing child are several separate areas of inquiry: first, how does the primary, tangible substrate for those emotions develop, by which is meant the physical brain itself; second, how and from what does the mind by which the emotions are expressed arise, and thirdly, how do the emotions themselves come to be?

Daniel Siegel begins his analysis of the development of the mind with the physical brain. He relates the development of the child’s brain to the mind of the parent or caregiver, in a process where non-physical and non-genetic elements and processes actually, in some ways, give rise to the physical brain.

Siegel uses a sculptural metaphor to set forth his conception of the process of physical development and non-physical influence upon it. In “experience-expectant” development, he says, neuronal material develops, made up of neurons and synapses, a kind of un-carved block of material from which experience will sculpt – literally and physically – the final compliment of neurons and neuronal connections, and the layout of the brain. This sculpting process gives rise to the substrate upon which further development will occur throughout the lifespan of the individual. (Siegel, 72.)

The gist of the argument at this point is that proper attachment to caregivers will foster the healthy development of the brain, mind, and emotions, but that improper attachment will not: “Disuse (“use-it-or-lose-it”) or toxic conditions, such as with excessive stress (as in child abuse) can lead to the elimination of existing synapses” (72). He introduces another concept, that of “experience-dependant” development, in which new neural connections are made through experience. In this he offers hope for those who did not receive the quality of connection that he lays out as necessary to develop certain brain structures and mind qualities, saying that “ . . . this period may not be the “last chance” for ongoing development in these areas . . . “ (73) even while making it clear that “ . . . it is a time when basic circuitry is being established for the first time” (73). So proper connection is privileged above later experience, but if it is not gotten, at least all is not lost.

In calling attention to child-rearing practices in which children are “bombard[ed] . . . with excessive sensory stimulation in hopes of making better brains” (72), Seigel weighs in with a well-argued if lengthy position on the issue of quantity versus quality in terms of communication with the developing child. Clearly, quality wins.

Like others we have read, Siegel closely examines areas of the brain and relates them to discrete elements of function, and he synthesizes several researchers’ work into support for his own theory of neuronal integration. As many have done, he takes great pains to locate the brain in the body, and refers to the element of connection to the rest of the body as an essential part of what he calls “mind” , relating this solidly to emotions.

One question that Siegel’s discussion raises for me is whether the kind of neural substrate that develops under sub-optimal conditions may actually be more advantageous, from an evolutionary standpoint, for a child living in such conditions to possess, than the kind of neural structure that would develop under more optimal conditions. This may seem counterintuitive, but all children learn how to live in their specific environments, and that learning lets them function and survive within them to the best of their ability.

Is it possible that the kind of neural structures which children in sub-optimal conditions develop due to certain features of their environment likewise let them function and survive better in their specific situation? For example, might a child living in a harsh environment but possessing the kind of neural architecture that normally develops in a more nurturing climate be too sensitive to the depredations of that environment, and thus be more open to greater hurts and wounds? This is not to suggest that such development or learning is optimal, only that it may be more suited to a certain set of circumstances such that individuals possessing such structural forms in those circumstances may survive to pass on their genes better than those possessing other structural forms under the same conditions.

Siegel’s work is disturbing to read, in that it is difficult not to think about the implications for survivors of child abuse. If he is correct, then these children will suffer more than the pain of the abuse in the moment, or psychological difficulties later in life; their very intelligence and ability to function may be forever limited by their earliest experiences regardless of efforts they may make through therapy or similar treatments.

Michael Lewis, in “The Emergence of Human Emotions”, compares and contrasts a number of theories in search of a theory of development. He makes a case for a combination of experiential, cognitive developmental processes and “pre-wired” emotional circuitry present at birth. What his paper brings out the most is the extent to which more evidence and data are needed for any of the many theories and ideas about how emotion develops and is experienced in humans.

I disagreed with many of his statements and conclusions. For example, in his example involving a car accident, he tries to make the case that the driver did not experience her fear until after the danger was over. I disagree.

When my car hit black ice and traversed Interstate 84 from the far left lane across the middle and right lanes, doing three 360 degree revolutions on the way across, and finally bounced about 5 times off of the retaining fence, turning each time it bounced to hit in another place, I experienced several very remarkable sensations that can only have come from the basic emotion of fear. First of all, the entire incident happened, in my perception, in extreme slow motion. My mind reacted to an immediate adrenaline response, and became much more alert and quick than usual. Time seemed to slow down, but in reality it was simply that I was noticing much more about every moment, so it appeared to happen more slowly.

Second, there was no sound at all until the car had stopped moving entirely. My body routed all sensation to the one sense that would help me in this case, that of sight. Although my car certainly made a great deal of noise bouncing off the retaining fence, if not in its trip laterally across the road, I heard nothing at all until the sound of a fellow traveler tapping on my window afterward. My visual recollection of the event, however, is crystal clear, and very colorful.

Like James McGaugh’s medieval boy, thrown in the river to embed an important event in his memory the length of his life (McGaugh, ix), the accident is imprinted upon my memory in “living color”.

All of these were direct experiences of fear, although not ones I was familiar with as such. I am certain they were induced by the same bodily changes so many of the authors we have read attribute to the bodily side of emotion. They were not as easy to identify as the shaking hands, pounding heart and other somatic sensations I experienced once the car had come to rest and I’d had a moment to really think about what had happened, but they were a form of fear none the less, and I experienced them fully. Had I been in the wilderness and confronted by a large predator, I am sure that I would have acquired the ability to run very fast, or the strength to climb a tree quickly, or whatever else my brain and body decided I should do in what Damasio describes as emotion “ . . . making living beings act smartly without having to think smartly” (Damasio, xi).

Paul Harris looks at children’s understanding of emotion. He discusses a variety of developmental issues around emotion, such as how children report their own emotions and those of others, their memories of emotional incidents, and attachment theory in terms of language about and understanding of emotion.

I think that one of Harris’s most compelling and successful arguments is his relation of children’s facility with and knowledge about emotion, to popularity among other children. Correlating the real-life reactions of other children to the relative popularity of their peers, which are probably very likely to be extremely genuine, with a child’s results on various emotional tests, seems like a very good way to diagnose the validity of the tests and judge whether certain developmental experiences effect social development in the context of emotional development. I also very much appreciated that he cautioned against accepting these findings too easily, as he points out that “Acceptance by peers may increase children’s opportunities for learning abut emotion” (Harris, 288).

He offers many real-life-based examples to illustrate the points he is trying to make, which makes his work eminently readable, and displays a warm adn perceptive view of the human side of his subjects. He also seems to approach his premises and those of others in an extremely thoughtful manner. He often points out where very plausible-seeming reasoning may in fact be flawed. He also discusses some “ . . . emotional processes that may escape our awareness, but reveal themselves nonetheless via telltale facial expressions or various psychophysiological indices” (281). Here he grants a certain agency and dignity to the self, in keeping open the possibility that people may sense and know more than can be measured by testing and theorizing.

Ultimately, Harris sees the development of emotion as a resilient process, that may be interrupted but which is likely to proceed even if its end state is less than optimal (290). His emphasis on the importance of communication and rumination either at the time of development or later in the form of therapy or private journaling strikes another hopeful note, and his general attitude seems to be one of respect for the people he writes about.