Advancements in Cognitive Psychology

Human evolution at the crossroads

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 23:16:00 +0000

Genetics, cybernetics complicate forecast for species
By Alan Boyle, Science editor, updated 3:00 p.m. PT, Mon., May 2, 2005

Scientists are fond of running the evolutionary clock backward, using DNA analysis and the fossil record to figure out when our ancestors stood erect and split off from the rest of the primate evolutionary tree.

But the clock is running forward as well. So where are humans headed?
Evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins says it's the question he's most often asked, and "a question that any prudent evolutionist will evade." But the question is being raised even more frequently as researchers study our past and contemplate our future.

Paleontologists say that anatomically modern humans may have at one time shared the Earth with as many as three other closely related types — Neanderthals, Homo erectus and the dwarf hominids whose remains were discovered last year in Indonesia.
Does evolutionary theory allow for circumstances in which "spin-off" human species could develop again?

Some think the rapid rise of genetic modification could be just such a circumstance. Others believe we could blend ourselves with machines in unprecedented ways — turning natural-born humans into an endangered species.

Present-day fact, not science fictionSuch ideas may sound like little more than science-fiction plot lines. But trend-watchers point out that we're already wrestling with real-world aspects of future human development, ranging from stem-cell research to the implantation of biocompatible computer chips. The debates are likely to become increasingly divisive once all the scientific implications sink in.

"These issues touch upon religion, upon politics, upon values," said Gregory Stock, director of the Program on Medicine, Technology and Society at the University of California at Los Angeles. "This is about our vision of the future, essentially, and we'll never completely agree about those things."

The problem is, scientists can't predict with precision how our species will adapt to changes over the next millennium, let alone the next million years. That's why Dawkins believes it's imprudent to make a prediction in the first place.

Others see it differently: In the book "Future Evolution," University of Washington paleontologist Peter Ward argues that we are making ourselves virtually extinction-proof by bending Earth's flora and fauna to our will. And assuming that the human species will be hanging around for at least another 500 million years, Ward and others believe there are a few most likely scenarios for the future, based on a reading of past evolutionary episodes and current trends.

Where are humans headed? Here's an imprudent assessment of five possible paths, ranging from homogenized humans to alien-looking hybrids bred for interstellar travel.
Unihumans: Will we all be assimilated?Biologists say that different populations of a species have to be isolated from each other in order for those populations to diverge into separate species. That's the process that gave rise to 13 different species of "Darwin's Finches" in the Galapagos Islands. But what if the human species is so widespread there's no longer any opening for divergence?

Evolution is still at work. But instead of diverging, our gene pool has been converging for tens of thousands of years — and Stuart Pimm, an expert on biodiversity at Duke University, says that trend may well be accelerating.

"The big thing that people overlook when speculating about human evolution is that the raw matter for evolution is variation," he said. "We are going to lose that variability very quickly, and the reason is not quite a genetic argument, but it's close. At the moment we humans speak something on the order of 6,500 languages. If we look at the number of languages we will likely pass on to our children, that number is 600."

Cultural diversity, as measured by linguistic diversity, is fading as human society becomes more interconnected globally, Pimm argued. "I do think that we are going to become much more homogeneous," he said.

Ken Miller, an evolutionary biologist at Brown University, agreed: "We have become a kind of animal monoculture."

Is that such a bad thing? A global culture of Unihumans could seem heavenly if we figure out how to achieve long-term political and economic stability and curb population growth. That may require the development of a more "domesticated" society — one in which our rough genetic edges are smoothed out.

But like other monocultures, our species could be more susceptible to quick-spreading diseases, as last year's bird flu epidemic illustrated.

"The genetic variability that we have protects us against suffering from massive harm when some bug comes along," Pimm said. "This idea of breeding the super-race, like breeding the super-race of corn or rice or whatever — the long-term consequences of that could be quite scary."

Environmental pressures wouldn't stopEven a Unihuman culture would have to cope with evolutionary pressures from the environment, the University of Washington's Peter Ward said.
Some environmentalists say toxins that work like estrogens are already having an effect: Such agents, found in pesticides and industrial PCBs, have been linked to earlier puberty for women, increased incidence of breast cancer and lower sperm counts for men.

"One of the great frontiers is going to be trying to keep humans alive in a much more toxic world," he observed from his Seattle office. "The whales of Puget Sound are the most toxic whales on Earth. Puget Sound is just a huge cesspool. Well, imagine if that goes global."
Global epidemics or dramatic environmental changes represent just two of the scenarios that could cause a Unihuman society to crack, putting natural selection — or perhaps not-so-natural selection — back into the evolutionary game. Then what?

Survivalistians: Coping with doomsdaySurviving doomsday is a story as old as Noah’s Ark, and as new as the post-bioapocalypse movie “28 Days Later.”

Catastrophes ranging from super-floods to plagues to nuclear war to asteroid strikes erase civilization as we know it, leaving remnants of humanity who go their own evolutionary ways.
The classic Darwinian version of the story may well be H.G. Wells’ “The Time Machine,” in which humanity splits off into two species: the ruthless, underground Morlock and the effete, surface-dwelling Eloi.

At least for modern-day humans, the forces that lead to species spin-offs have been largely held in abeyance: Populations are increasingly in contact with each other, leading to greater gene-mixing. Humans are no longer threatened by predators their own size, and medicine cancels out inherited infirmities ranging from hemophilia to nearsightedness.
“We are helping genes that would have dropped out of the gene pool,” paleontologist Peter Ward observed.

But in Wells’ tale and other science-fiction stories, a civilization-shattering catastrophe serves to divide humanity into separate populations, vulnerable once again to selection pressures. For example, people who had more genetic resistance to viral disease would be more likely to pass on that advantage to their descendants.

If different populations develop in isolation over many thousands of generations, it’s conceivable that separate species would emerge. For example, that virus-resistant strain of post-humans might eventually thrive in the wake of a global bioterror crisis, while less hardy humans would find themselves quarantined in the world’s safe havens.
Patterns in the spread of the virus that causes AIDS may hint at earlier, less catastrophic episodes of natural selection, said Stuart Pimm, a conservation biologist at Duke University:

“There are pockets of people who don’t seem to become HIV-positive, even though they have a lot of exposure to the virus — and that may be because their ancestors survived the plague 500 years ago.”

Evolution, or devolution?If the catastrophe ever came, could humanity recover? In science fiction, that’s an intriguingly open question. For example, Stephen Baxter’s novel “Evolution” foresees an environmental-military meltdown so severe that, over the course of 30 million years, humans devolve into separate species of eyeless mole-men, neo-apes and elephant-people herded by their super-rodent masters.

Even Ward gives himself a little speculative leeway in his book “Future Evolution,” where a time-traveling human meets his doom 10 million years from now at the hands — or in this case, the talons — of a flock of intelligent killer crows. But Ward finds it hard to believe that even a global catastrophe would keep human populations isolated long enough for our species to split apart.

“Unless we totally forget how to build a boat, we can quickly come back,” Ward said.
Even in the event of a post-human split-off, evolutionary theory dictates that one species would eventually subjugate, assimilate or eliminate their competitors for the top job in the global ecosystem. Just ask the Neanderthals.

“If you have two species competing over the same ecological niche, it ends badly for one of them, historically,” said Joel Garreau, the author of the forthcoming book “Radical Evolution.”
The only reason chimpanzees still exist today is that they “had the brains to stay up in the trees and not come down into the open grasslands,” he noted.

“You have this optimistic view that you’re not going to see speciation (among humans), and I desperately hope that’s right,” Garreau said. “But that’s not the only scenario.”

Numans: Rise of the superhumansWe’ve already seen the future of enhanced humans, and his name is Barry Bonds.

The controversy surrounding the San Francisco Giants slugger, and whether steroids played a role in the bulked-up look that he and other baseball players have taken on, is only a foretaste of what’s coming as scientists find new genetic and pharmacological ways to improve performance.
Developments in the field are coming so quickly that social commentator Joel Garreau argues that they represent a new form of evolution. This radical kind of evolution moves much more quickly than biological evolution, which can take millions of years, or even cultural evolution, which works on a scale of hundreds or thousands of years.

How long before this new wave of evolution spawns a new kind of human? “Try 20 years,” Garreau told MSNBC.com. In his latest book, “Radical Evolution,” Garreau reels off a litany of high-tech enhancements, ranging from steroid Supermen, to camera-equipped flying drones, to pills that keep soldiers going without sleep or food for days.

“If you look at the superheroes of the ’30s and the ’40s, just about all of the technologies they had exist today,” he said. Three kinds of humansSuch enhancements are appearing first on the athletic field and the battlefield, Garreau said, but eventually they’ll make their way to the collegiate scene, the office scene and even the dating scene.

“You’re talking about three different kinds of humans: the enhanced, the naturals and the rest,” Garreau said. “The enhanced are defined as those who have the money and enthusiasm to make themselves live longer, be smarter, look sexier. That’s what you’re competing against.”
In Garreau’s view of the world, the naturals will be those who eschew enhancements for higher reasons, just as vegetarians forgo meat and fundamentalists forgo what they see as illicit pleasures. Then there’s all the rest of us, who don’t get enhanced only because they can’t. “They loathe and despise the people who do, and they also envy them,” Garreau said.
Scientists acknowledge that some of the medical enhancements on the horizon could engender a “have vs. have not” attitude.

“But I could be a smart ass and ask how that’s different from what we have now,” said Brown University’s Ken Miller. Medical advances as equalizers Miller went on to point out that in the past, “advances in medical science have actually been great levelers of social equality.” For example, age-old scourges such as smallpox and polio have been eradicated, thanks to public health efforts in poorer as well as richer countries. That trend is likely to continue as scientists learn more about the genetic roots of disease, he said.

“In terms of making genetic modifications to ourselves, it’s much more likely we’ll start to tinker with genes for disease susceptibility. … Maybe there would be a long-term health project to breed HIV-resistant people,” he said.

When it comes to discussing ways to enhance humans, rather than simply make up for disabilities, the traits targeted most often are longevity and memory. Scientists have already found ways to enhance those traits in mice.

Imagine improvements that could keep you in peak working condition past the age of 100. Those are the sorts of enhancements you might want to pass on to your descendants — and that could set the stage for reproductive isolation and an eventual species split-off.
“In that scenario, why would you want your kid to marry somebody who would not pass on the genes that allowed your grandchildren to have longevity, too?” the University of Washington’s
Peter Ward asked.

But that would require crossing yet another technological and ethical frontier.
Instant superhumans — or monsters?To date, genetic medicine has focused on therapies that work on only one person at a time. The effects of those therapies aren’t carried on to future generations. For example, if you take muscle-enhancing drugs, or even undergo gene therapy for bigger muscles, that doesn’t mean your children will have similarly big muscles.
In order to make an enhancement inheritable, you’d have to have new code spliced into your germline stem cells — creating an ethical controversy of transcendent proportions.
Tinkering with the germline could conceivably produce a superhuman species in a single generation — but could also conceivably create a race of monsters. “It is totally unpredictable,” Ward said. “It’s a lot easier to understand evolutionary happenstance.”

Even then, there are genetic traits that are far more difficult to produce than big muscles or even super-longevity — for instance, the very trait that defines us as humans.
“It’s very, very clear that intelligence is a pretty subtle thing, and it’s clear that we don’t have a single gene that turns it on or off,” Miller said.

When it comes to intelligence, some scientists say, the most likely route to our future enhancement — and perhaps our future competition as well — just might come from our own machines.

Cyborgs: Merging with the machinesWill intelligent machines be assimilated, or will humans be eliminated?

Until a few years ago, that question was addressed only in science-fiction plot lines, but today the rapid pace of cybernetic change has led some experts to worry that artificial intelligence may outpace Homo sapiens’ natural smarts.

The pace of change is often stated in terms of Moore’s Law, which says that the number of transistors packed into a square inch should double every 18 months. “Moore’s Law is now on its 30th doubling. We have never seen that sort of exponential increase before in human history,” said Joel Garreau, author of the book “Radical Evolution.”

In some fields, artificial intelligence has already bested humans — with Deep Blue’s 1997 victory over world chess champion Garry Kasparov providing a vivid example.
Three years later, computer scientist Bill Joy argued in an influential Wired magazine essay that we would soon face challenges from intelligent machines as well as from other technologies ranging from weapons of mass destruction to self-replicating nanoscale “gray goo.”
Joy speculated that a truly intelligent robot may arise by the year 2030. “And once an intelligent robot exists, it is only a small step to a robot species — to an intelligent robot that can make evolved copies of itself,” he wrote.

Assimilating the robotsTo others, it seems more likely that we could become part-robot ourselves: We’re already making machines that can be assimilated — including prosthetic limbs, mechanical hearts, cochlear implants and artificial retinas. Why couldn’t brain augmentation be added to the list?

“The usual suggestions are that we’ll design improvements to ourselves,” said Seth Shostak, senior astronomer at the SETI Institute. “We’ll put additional chips in our head, and we won’t get lost, and we’ll be able to do all those math problems that used to befuddle us.”
Shostak, who writes about the possibilities for cybernetic intelligence in his book “Sharing the Universe,” thinks that’s likely to be a transitional step at best.

“My usual response is that, well, you can improve horses by putting four-cylinder engines in them. But eventually you can do without the horse part,” he said. “These hybrids just don’t strike me as having a tremendous advantage. It just means the machines aren’t good enough.”
Back to biologyUniversity of Washington paleontologist Peter Ward also believes human-machine hybrids aren’t a long-term option, but for different reasons.

“When you talk to people in the know, they think cybernetics will become biology,” he said. “So you’re right back to biology, and the easiest way to make changes is by manipulating genomes.”
It’s hard to imagine that robots would ever be given enough free rein to challenge human dominance, but even if they did break free, Shostak has no fear of a “Terminator”-style battle for the planet.

“I’ve got a couple of goldfish, and I don’t wake up in the morning and say, ‘I’m gonna kill these guys.’ … I just leave ’em alone,” Shostak said. “I suspect the machines would very quickly get to a level where we were kind of irrelevant, so I don’t fear them. But it does mean that we’re no longer No. 1 on the planet, and we’ve never had that happen before.”
Astrans: Turning into an alien raceIf humans survive long enough, there’s one sure way to grow new branches on our evolutionary family tree: by spreading out to other planets.
Habitable worlds beyond Earth could be a 23rd century analog to the Galapagos Islands, Charles Darwin’s evolutionary laboratory: just barely close enough for travelers to get to, but far enough away that there'd be little gene-mixing with the parent species.

“If we get off to the stars, then yes, we will have speciation,” said University of Washington paleontologist Peter Ward. “But can we ever get off the Earth?”
Currently, the closest star system thought to have a planet is Epsilon Eridani, 10.5 light-years away. Even if spaceships could travel at 1 percent the speed of light — an incredible 6.7 million mph — it would take more than a millennium to get there.

Even Mars might be far enough: If humans established a permanent settlement there, the radically different living conditions would change the evolutionary equation. For example, those who are born and raised in one-third of Earth’s gravity could never feel at home on the old “home planet.” It wouldn’t take long for the new Martians to become a breed apart.
As for distant stars, the SETI Institute’s Seth Shostak has already been thinking through the possibilities:

· Build a big ark: Build a spaceship big enough to carry an entire civilization to the destination star system. The problem is, that environment might be just too unnatural for natural humans. “If you talk to the sociologists, they’ll say that it will not work. … You’ll be lucky if anybody’s still alive after the third generation,” Shostak said.
· Go to warp speed: Somehow we discover a wormhole or find a way to travel at relativistic speeds. “That sounds OK, except for the fact that nobody knows how to do it,” Shostak said.
· Enter the Astrans: Humans are genetically engineered to tolerate ultra long-term hibernation aboard robotic ships. Once the ship reaches its destination, these “Astrans” are awakened to start the work of settling a new world. “That’s one possibility,” Shostak said.

The ultimate approach would be to send the instructions for making humans rather than the humans themselves, Shostak said. “We’re not going to put anything in a rocket, we’re just going to beam ourselves to the stars,” he explained. “The only trouble is, if there’s nobody on the other end to put you back together, there’s no point.”

So are we back to square one? Not necessarily, Shostak said. Setting up the receivers on other stars is no job for a human, “but the machines could make it work.”
In fact, if any other society is significantly further along than ours, such a network might be up and running by now. “The machines really could develop large tracts of galactic real estate, whereas it’s really hard for biology to travel,” Shostak said.

It all seems inconceivable, but if humans really are extinction-proof — if they manage to survive global catastrophes, genetic upheavals and cybernetic challenges — who’s to say what will be inconceivable millions of years from now? Two intelligent species, human and machine, just might work together to spread life through the universe.

“If you were sufficiently motivated,” Shostak said, “you could in fact keep it going forever.”

© 2009 msnbc.com Reprints URL: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7103668/

The Holy Grail of the Unconscious

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 16:07:00 +0000

By SARA CORBETT
New York Times

This is a story about a nearly 100-year-old book, bound in red leather, which has spent the last quarter century secreted away in a bank vault in Switzerland. The book is big and heavy and its spine is etched with gold letters that say “Liber Novus,” which is Latin for “New Book.” Its pages are made from thick cream-colored parchment and filled with paintings of otherworldly creatures and handwritten dialogues with gods and devils. If you didn’t know the book’s vintage, you might confuse it for a lost medieval tome.

And yet between the book’s heavy covers, a very modern story unfolds. It goes as follows: Man skids into midlife and loses his soul. Man goes looking for soul. After a lot of instructive hardship and adventure — taking place entirely in his head — he finds it again.

Some people feel that nobody should read the book, and some feel that everybody should read it. The truth is, nobody really knows. Most of what has been said about the book — what it is, what it means — is the product of guesswork, because from the time it was begun in 1914 in a smallish town in Switzerland, it seems that only about two dozen people have managed to read or even have much of a look at it.

Of those who did see it, at least one person, an educated Englishwoman who was allowed to read some of the book in the 1920s, thought it held infinite wisdom — “There are people in my country who would read it from cover to cover without stopping to breathe scarcely,” she wrote — while another, a well-known literary type who glimpsed it shortly after, deemed it both fascinating and worrisome, concluding that it was the work of a psychotic.

So for the better part of the past century, despite the fact that it is thought to be the pivotal work of one of the era’s great thinkers, the book has existed mostly just as a rumor, cosseted behind the skeins of its own legend — revered and puzzled over only from a great distance.

Which is why one rainy November night in 2007, I boarded a flight in Boston and rode the clouds until I woke up in Zurich, pulling up to the airport gate at about the same hour that the main branch of the United Bank of Switzerland, located on the city’s swanky Banhofstrasse, across from Tommy Hilfiger and close to Cartier, was opening its doors for the day. A change was under way: the book, which had spent the past 23 years locked inside a safe deposit box in one of the bank’s underground vaults, was just then being wrapped in black cloth and loaded into a discreet-looking padded suitcase on wheels. It was then rolled past the guards, out into the sunlight and clear, cold air, where it was loaded into a waiting car and whisked away.

THIS COULD SOUND, I realize, like the start of a spy novel or a Hollywood bank caper, but it is rather a story about genius and madness, as well as possession and obsession, with one object — this old, unusual book — skating among those things. Also, there are a lot of Jungians involved, a species of thinkers who subscribe to the theories of Carl Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist and author of the big red leather book. And Jungians, almost by definition, tend to get enthused anytime something previously hidden reveals itself, when whatever’s been underground finally makes it to the surface.

Carl Jung founded the field of analytical psychology and, along with Sigmund Freud, was responsible for popularizing the idea that a person’s interior life merited not just attention but dedicated exploration — a notion that has since propelled tens of millions of people into psychotherapy. Freud, who started as Jung’s mentor and later became his rival, generally viewed the unconscious mind as a warehouse for repressed desires, which could then be codified and pathologized and treated. Jung, over time, came to see the psyche as an inherently more spiritual and fluid place, an ocean that could be fished for enlightenment and healing.

Whether or not he would have wanted it this way, Jung — who regarded himself as a scientist — is today remembered more as a countercultural icon, a proponent of spirituality outside religion and the ultimate champion of dreamers and seekers everywhere, which has earned him both posthumous respect and posthumous ridicule. Jung’s ideas laid the foundation for the widely used Myers-Briggs personality test and influenced the creation of Alcoholics Anonymous. His central tenets — the existence of a collective unconscious and the power of archetypes — have seeped into the larger domain of New Age thinking while remaining more at the fringes of mainstream psychology.

A big man with wire-rimmed glasses, a booming laugh and a penchant for the experimental, Jung was interested in the psychological aspects of séances, of astrology, of witchcraft. He could be jocular and also impatient. He was a dynamic speaker, an empathic listener. He had a famously magnetic appeal with women. Working at Zurich’s Burghölzli psychiatric hospital, Jung listened intently to the ravings of schizophrenics, believing they held clues to both personal and universal truths. At home, in his spare time, he pored over Dante, Goethe, Swedenborg and Nietzsche. He began to study mythology and world cultures, applying what he learned to the live feed from the unconscious — claiming that dreams offered a rich and symbolic narrative coming from the depths of the psyche. Somewhere along the way, he started to view the human soul — not just the mind and the body — as requiring specific care and development, an idea that pushed him into a province long occupied by poets and priests but not so much by medical doctors and empirical scientists.

Jung soon found himself in opposition not just to Freud but also to most of his field, the psychiatrists who constituted the dominant culture at the time, speaking the clinical language of symptom and diagnosis behind the deadbolts of asylum wards. Separation was not easy. As his convictions began to crystallize, Jung, who was at that point an outwardly successful and ambitious man with a young family, a thriving private practice and a big, elegant house on the shores of Lake Zurich, felt his own psyche starting to teeter and slide, until finally he was dumped into what would become a life-altering crisis.

What happened next to Carl Jung has become, among Jungians and other scholars, the topic of enduring legend and controversy. It has been characterized variously as a creative illness, a descent into the underworld, a bout with insanity, a narcissistic self-deification, a transcendence, a midlife breakdown and an inner disturbance mirroring the upheaval of World War I. Whatever the case, in 1913, Jung, who was then 38, got lost in the soup of his own psyche. He was haunted by troubling visions and heard inner voices. Grappling with the horror of some of what he saw, he worried in moments that he was, in his own words, “menaced by a psychosis” or “doing a schizophrenia.”

He later would compare this period of his life — this “confrontation with the unconscious,” as he called it — to a mescaline experiment. He described his visions as coming in an “incessant stream.” He likened them to rocks falling on his head, to thunderstorms, to molten lava. “I often had to cling to the table,” he recalled, “so as not to fall apart.”

Had he been a psychiatric patient, Jung might well have been told he had a nervous disorder and encouraged to ignore the circus going on in his head. But as a psychiatrist, and one with a decidedly maverick streak, he tried instead to tear down the wall between his rational self and his psyche. For about six years, Jung worked to prevent his conscious mind from blocking out what his unconscious mind wanted to show him. Between appointments with patients, after dinner with his wife and children, whenever there was a spare hour or two, Jung sat in a book-lined office on the second floor of his home and actually induced hallucinations — what he called “active imaginations.” “In order to grasp the fantasies which were stirring in me ‘underground,’ ” Jung wrote later in his book “Memories, Dreams, Reflections,” “I knew that I had to let myself plummet down into them.” He found himself in a liminal place, as full of creative abundance as it was of potential ruin, believing it to be the same borderlands traveled by both lunatics and great artists.

Jung recorded it all. First taking notes in a series of small, black journals, he then expounded upon and analyzed his fantasies, writing in a regal, prophetic tone in the big red-leather book. The book detailed an unabashedly psychedelic voyage through his own mind, a vaguely Homeric progression of encounters with strange people taking place in a curious, shifting dreamscape. Writing in German, he filled 205 oversize pages with elaborate calligraphy and with richly hued, staggeringly detailed paintings.

What he wrote did not belong to his previous canon of dispassionate, academic essays on psychiatry. Nor was it a straightforward diary. It did not mention his wife, or his children, or his colleagues, nor for that matter did it use any psychiatric language at all. Instead, the book was a kind of phantasmagoric morality play, driven by Jung’s own wish not just to chart a course out of the mangrove swamp of his inner world but also to take some of its riches with him. It was this last part — the idea that a person might move beneficially between the poles of the rational and irrational, the light and the dark, the conscious and the unconscious — that provided the germ for his later work and for what analytical psychology would become.

The book tells the story of Jung trying to face down his own demons as they emerged from the shadows. The results are humiliating, sometimes unsavory. In it, Jung travels the land of the dead, falls in love with a woman he later realizes is his sister, gets squeezed by a giant serpent and, in one terrifying moment, eats the liver of a little child. (“I swallow with desperate efforts — it is impossible — once again and once again — I almost faint — it is done.”) At one point, even the devil criticizes Jung as hateful.

He worked on his red book — and he called it just that, the Red Book — on and off for about 16 years, long after his personal crisis had passed, but he never managed to finish it. He actively fretted over it, wondering whether to have it published and face ridicule from his scientifically oriented peers or to put it in a drawer and forget it. Regarding the significance of what the book contained, however, Jung was unequivocal. “All my works, all my creative activity,” he would recall later, “has come from those initial fantasies and dreams.”

Jung evidently kept the Red Book locked in a cupboard in his house in the Zurich suburb of Küsnacht. When he died in 1961, he left no specific instructions about what to do with it. His son, Franz, an architect and the third of Jung’s five children, took over running the house and chose to leave the book, with its strange musings and elaborate paintings, where it was. Later, in 1984, the family transferred it to the bank, where since then it has fulminated as both an asset and a liability.

Anytime someone did ask to see the Red Book, family members said, without hesitation and sometimes without decorum, no. The book was private, they asserted, an intensely personal work. In 1989, an American analyst named Stephen Martin, who was then the editor of a Jungian journal and now directs a Jungian nonprofit foundation, visited Jung’s son (his other four children were daughters) and inquired about the Red Book. The question was met with a vehemence that surprised him. “Franz Jung, an otherwise genial and gracious man, reacted sharply, nearly with anger,” Martin later wrote in his foundation’s newsletter, saying “in no uncertain terms” that Martin could not “see the Red Book, nor could he ever imagine that it would be published.”

And yet, Carl Jung’s secret Red Book — scanned, translated and footnoted — will be in stores early next month, published by W. W. Norton and billed as the “most influential unpublished work in the history of psychology.” Surely it is a victory for someone, but it is too early yet to say for whom.

STEPHEN MARTIN IS a compact, bearded man of 57. He has a buoyant, irreverent wit and what feels like a fully intact sense of wonder. If you happen to have a conversation with him anytime before, say, 10 a.m., he will ask his first question — “How did you sleep?” — and likely follow it with a second one — “Did you dream?” Because for Martin, as it is for all Jungian analysts, dreaming offers a barometric reading of the psyche. At his house in a leafy suburb of Philadelphia, Martin keeps five thick books filled with notations on and interpretations of all the dreams he had while studying to be an analyst 30 years ago in Zurich, under the tutelage of a Swiss analyst then in her 70s named Liliane Frey-Rohn. These days, Martin stores his dreams on his computer, but his dream life is — as he says everybody’s dream life should be — as involving as ever.

Even as some of his peers in the Jungian world are cautious about regarding Carl Jung as a sage — a history of anti-Semitic remarks and his sometimes patriarchal views of women have caused some to distance themselves — Martin is unapologetically reverential. He keeps Jung’s 20 volumes of collected works on a shelf at home. He rereads “Memories, Dreams, Reflections” at least twice a year. Many years ago, when one of his daughters interviewed him as part of a school project and asked what his religion was, Martin, a nonobservant Jew, answered, “Oh, honey, I’m a Jungian.”

The first time I met him, at the train station in Ardmore, Pa., Martin shook my hand and thoughtfully took my suitcase. “Come,” he said. “I’ll take you to see the holy hankie.” We then walked several blocks to the office where Martin sees clients. The room was cozy and cavelike, with a thick rug and walls painted a deep, handsome shade of blue. There was a Mission-style sofa and two upholstered chairs and an espresso machine in one corner.

Several mounted vintage posters of Zurich hung on the walls, along with framed photographs of Carl Jung, looking wise and white-haired, and Liliane Frey-Rohn, a round-faced woman smiling maternally from behind a pair of severe glasses.

Martin tenderly lifted several first-edition books by Jung from a shelf, opening them so I could see how they had been inscribed to Frey-Rohn, who later bequeathed them to Martin. Finally, we found ourselves standing in front of a square frame hung on the room’s far wall, another gift from his former analyst and the centerpiece of Martin’s Jung arcana. Inside the frame was a delicate linen square, its crispness worn away by age — a folded handkerchief with the letters “CGJ” embroidered neatly in one corner in gray. Martin pointed. “There you have it,” he said with exaggerated pomp, “the holy hankie, the sacred nasal shroud of C. G. Jung.”

In addition to practicing as an analyst, Martin is the director of the Philemon Foundation, which focuses on preparing the unpublished works of Carl Jung for publication, with the Red Book as its central project. He has spent the last several years aggressively, sometimes evangelistically, raising money in the Jungian community to support his foundation. The foundation, in turn, helped pay for the translating of the book and the addition of a scholarly apparatus — a lengthy introduction and vast network of footnotes — written by a London-based historian named Sonu Shamdasani, who serves as the foundation’s general editor and who spent about three years persuading the family to endorse the publication of the book and to allow him access to it.

Given the Philemon Foundation’s aim to excavate and make public C. G. Jung’s old papers — lectures he delivered at Zurich’s Psychological Club or unpublished letters, for example — both Martin and Shamdasani, who started the foundation in 2003, have worked to develop a relationship with the Jung family, the owners and notoriously protective gatekeepers of Jung’s works. Martin echoed what nearly everybody I met subsequently would tell me about working with Jung’s descendants. “It’s sometimes delicate,” he said, adding by way of explanation, “They are very Swiss.”

What he likely meant by this was that the members of the Jung family who work most actively on maintaining Jung’s estate tend to do things carefully and with an emphasis on privacy and decorum and are on occasion taken aback by the relatively brazen and totally informal way that American Jungians — who it is safe to say are the most ardent of all Jungians — inject themselves into the family’s business. There are Americans knocking unannounced on the door of the family home in Küsnacht; Americans scaling the fence at Bollingen, the stone tower Jung built as a summer residence farther south on the shore of Lake Zurich. Americans pepper Ulrich Hoerni, one of Jung’s grandsons who manages Jung’s editorial and archival matters through a family foundation, almost weekly with requests for various permissions. The relationship between the Jungs and the people who are inspired by Jung is, almost by necessity, a complex symbiosis. The Red Book — which on one hand described Jung’s self-analysis and became the genesis for the Jungian method and on the other was just strange enough to possibly embarrass the family — held a certain electrical charge. Martin recognized the descendants’ quandary. “They own it, but they haven’t lived it,” he said, describing Jung’s legacy. “It’s very consternating for them because we all feel like we own it.” Even the old psychiatrist himself seemed to recognize the tension. “Thank God I am Jung,” he is rumored once to have said, “and not a Jungian.”

“This guy, he was a bodhisattva,” Martin said to me that day. “This is the greatest psychic explorer of the 20th century, and this book tells the story of his inner life.” He added, “It gives me goose bumps just thinking about it.” He had at that point yet to lay eyes on the book, but for him that made it all the more tantalizing. His hope was that the Red Book would “reinvigorate” Jungian psychology, or at the very least bring himself personally closer to Jung. “Will I understand it?” he said. “Probably not. Will it disappoint? Probably. Will it inspire? How could it not?” He paused a moment, seeming to think it through. “I want to be transformed by it,” he said finally. “That’s all there is.”

IN ORDER TO UNDERSTAND and decode the Red Book — a process he says required more than five years of concentrated work — Sonu Shamdasani took long, rambling walks on London’s Hampstead Heath. He would translate the book in the morning, then walk miles in the park in the afternoon, his mind trying to follow the rabbit’s path Jung had forged through his own mind.

Shamdasani is 46. He has thick black hair, a punctilious eye for detail and an understated, even somnolent, way of speaking. He is friendly but not particularly given to small talk. If Stephen Martin is — in Jungian terms — a “feeling type,” then Shamdasani, who teaches at the University College London’s Wellcome Trust Center for the History of Medicine and keeps a book by the ancient Greek playwright Aeschylus by his sofa for light reading, is a “thinking type.” He has studied Jungian psychology for more than 15 years and is particularly drawn to the breadth of Jung’s psychology and his knowledge of Eastern thought, as well as the historical richness of his era, a period when visionary writing was more common, when science and art were more entwined and when Europe was slipping into the psychic upheaval of war. He tends to be suspicious of interpretive thinking that’s not anchored by hard fact — and has, in fact, made a habit of attacking anybody he deems guilty of sloppy scholarship — and also maintains a generally unsentimental attitude toward Jung. Both of these qualities make him, at times, awkward company among both Jungians and Jungs.

The relationship between historians and the families of history’s luminaries is, almost by nature, one of mutual disenchantment. One side works to extract; the other to protect. One pushes; one pulls. Stephen Joyce, James Joyce’s literary executor and last living heir, has compared scholars and biographers to “rats and lice.” Vladimir Nabokov’s son Dmitri recently told an interviewer that he considered destroying his father’s last known novel in order to rescue it from the “monstrous nincompoops” who had already picked over his father’s life and works. T. S. Eliot’s widow, Valerie Fletcher, has actively kept his papers out of the hands of biographers, and Anna Freud was, during her lifetime, notoriously selective about who was allowed to read and quote from her father’s archives.

Even against this backdrop, the Jungs, led by Ulrich Hoerni, the chief literary administrator, have distinguished themselves with their custodial vigor. Over the years, they have tried to interfere with the publication of books perceived to be negative or inaccurate (including one by the award-winning biographer Deirdre Bair), engaged in legal standoffs with Jungians and other academics over rights to Jung’s work and maintained a state of high agitation concerning the way C. G. Jung is portrayed. Shamdasani was initially cautious with Jung’s heirs. “They had a retinue of people coming to them and asking to see the crown jewels,” he told me in London this summer. “And the standard reply was, ‘Get lost.’ ”

Shamdasani first approached the family with a proposal to edit and eventually publish the Red Book in 1997, which turned out to be an opportune moment. Franz Jung, a vehement opponent of exposing Jung’s private side, had recently died, and the family was reeling from the publication of two controversial and widely discussed books by an American psychologist named Richard Noll, who proposed that Jung was a philandering, self-appointed prophet of a sun-worshiping Aryan cult and that several of his central ideas were either plagiarized or based upon falsified research.

While the attacks by Noll might have normally propelled the family to more vociferously guard the Red Book, Shamdasani showed up with the right bargaining chips — two partial typed draft manuscripts (without illustrations) of the Red Book he had dug up elsewhere. One was sitting on a bookshelf in a house in southern Switzerland, at the home of the elderly daughter of a woman who once worked as a transcriptionist and translator for Jung. The second he found at Yale University’s Beinecke Library, in an uncataloged box of papers belonging to a well-known German publisher. The fact that there were partial copies of the Red Book signified two things — one, that Jung had distributed it to at least a few friends, presumably soliciting feedback for publication; and two, that the book, so long considered private and inaccessible, was in fact findable. The specter of Richard Noll and anybody else who, they feared, might want to taint Jung by quoting selectively from the book loomed large. With or without the family’s blessing, the Red Book — or at least parts of it — would likely become public at some point soon, “probably,” Shamdasani wrote ominously in a report to the family, “in sensationalistic form.”

For about two years, Shamdasani flew back and forth to Zurich, making his case to Jung’s heirs. He had lunches and coffees and delivered a lecture. Finally, after what were by all accounts tense deliberations inside the family, Shamdasani was given a small salary and a color copy of the original book and was granted permission to proceed in preparing it for publication, though he was bound by a strict confidentiality agreement. When money ran short in 2003, the Philemon Foundation was created to finance Shamdasani’s research.

Having lived more or less alone with the book for almost a decade, Shamdasani — who is a lover of fine wine and the intricacies of jazz — these days has the slightly stunned aspect of someone who has only very recently found his way out of an enormous maze. When I visited him this summer in the book-stuffed duplex overlooking the heath, he was just adding his 1,051st footnote to the Red Book.

The footnotes map both Shamdasani’s journey and Jung’s. They include references to Faust, Keats, Ovid, the Norse gods Odin and Thor, the Egyptian deities Isis and Osiris, the Greek goddess Hecate, ancient Gnostic texts, Greek Hyperboreans, King Herod, the Old Testament, the New Testament, Nietzsche’s Zarathustra, astrology, the artist Giacometti and the alchemical formulation of gold. And that’s just naming a few. The central premise of the book, Shamdasani told me, was that Jung had become disillusioned with scientific rationalism — what he called “the spirit of the times” — and over the course of many quixotic encounters with his own soul and with other inner figures, he comes to know and appreciate “the spirit of the depths,” a field that makes room for magic, coincidence and the mythological metaphors delivered by dreams.

“It is the nuclear reactor for all his works,” Shamdasani said, noting that Jung’s more well-known concepts — including his belief that humanity shares a pool of ancient wisdom that he called the collective unconscious and the thought that personalities have both male and female components (animus and anima) — have their roots in the Red Book. Creating the book also led Jung to reformulate how he worked with clients, as evidenced by an entry Shamdasani found in a self-published book written by a former client, in which she recalls Jung’s advice for processing what went on in the deeper and sometimes frightening parts of her mind.

“I should advise you to put it all down as beautifully as you can — in some beautifully bound book,” Jung instructed. “It will seem as if you were making the visions banal — but then you need to do that — then you are freed from the power of them. . . . Then when these things are in some precious book you can go to the book & turn over the pages & for you it will be your church — your cathedral — the silent places of your spirit where you will find renewal. If anyone tells you that it is morbid or neurotic and you listen to them — then you will lose your soul — for in that book is your soul.”

ZURICH IS, IF NOTHING ELSE, one of Europe’s more purposeful cities. Its church bells clang precisely; its trains glide in and out on a flawless schedule. There are crowded fondue restaurants and chocolatiers and rosy-cheeked natives breezily pedaling their bicycles over the stone bridges that span the Limmat River. In summer, white-sailed yachts puff around Lake Zurich; in winter, the Alps glitter on the horizon. And during the lunch hour year-round, squads of young bankers stride the Banhofstrasse in their power suits and high-end watches, appearing eternally mindful of the fact that beneath everyone’s feet lie labyrinthine vaults stuffed with a dazzling and disproportionate amount of the world’s wealth.

But there, too, ventilating the city’s material splendor with their devotion to dreams, are the Jungians. Some 100 Jungian analysts practice in and around Zurich, examining their clients’ dreams in sessions held in small offices tucked inside buildings around the city. Another few hundred analysts in training can be found studying at one of the two Jungian institutes in the area. More than once, I have been told that, in addition to being a fantastic tourist destination and a good place to hide money, Zurich is an excellent city for dreaming.

Jungians are accustomed to being in the minority pretty much everywhere they go, but here, inside a city of 370,000, they have found a certain quiet purchase. Zurich, for Jungians, is spiritually loaded. It’s a kind of Jerusalem, the place where C. G. Jung began his career, held seminars, cultivated an inner circle of disciples, developed his theories of the psyche and eventually grew old. Many of the people who enroll in the institutes are Swiss, American, British or German, but some are from places like Japan and South Africa and Brazil. Though there are other Jungian institutes in other cities around the world offering diploma programs, learning the techniques of dream analysis in Zurich is a little bit like learning to hit a baseball in Yankee Stadium. For a believer, the place alone conveys a talismanic grace.

Just as I had, Stephen Martin flew to Zurich the week the Red Book was taken from its bank-vault home and moved to a small photo studio near the opera house to be scanned, page by page, for publication. (A separate English translation along with Shamdasani’s introduction and footnotes will be included at the back of the book.) Martin already made a habit of visiting Zurich a few times a year for “bratwurst and renewal” and to attend to Philemon Foundation business. My first morning there, we walked around the older parts of Zurich, before going to see the book. Zurich made Martin nostalgic. It was here that he met his wife, Charlotte, and here that he developed the almost equally important relationship with his analyst, Frey-Rohn, carrying himself and his dreams to her office two or three times weekly for several years.

Undergoing analysis is a central, learn-by-doing part of Jungian training, which usually takes about five years and also involves taking courses in folklore, mythology, comparative religion and psychopathology, among others. It is, Martin says, very much a “mentor-based discipline.” He is fond of pointing out his own conferred pedigree, because Frey-Rohn was herself analyzed by C. G. Jung. Most analysts seem to know their bloodlines. That morning, Martin and I were passing a cafe when he spotted another American analyst, someone he knew in school and who has since settled in Switzerland. “Oh, there’s Bob,” Martin said merrily, making his way toward the man. “Bob trained with Liliane,” he explained to me, “and that makes us kind of like brothers.”

Jungian analysis revolves largely around writing down your dreams (or drawing them) and bringing them to the analyst — someone who is patently good with both symbols and people — to be scoured for personal and archetypal meaning. Borrowing from Jung’s own experiences, analysts often encourage clients to experiment on their own with active imagination, to summon a waking dreamscape and to interact with whatever, or whoever, surfaces there. Analysis is considered to be a form of psychotherapy, and many analysts are in fact trained also as psychotherapists, but in its purist form, a Jungian analyst eschews clinical talk of diagnoses and recovery in favor of broader (and some might say fuzzier) goals of self-discovery and wholeness — a maturation process Jung himself referred to as “individuation.” Perhaps as a result, Jungian analysis has a distinct appeal to people in midlife. “The purpose of analysis is not treatment,” Martin explained to me. “That’s the purpose of psychotherapy. The purpose of analysis,” he added, a touch grandly, “is to give life back to someone who’s lost it.”

Later that day, we went to the photo studio where the work on the book was already under way. The room was a charmless space with concrete floors and black walls. Its hushed atmosphere and glaring lights added a slightly surgical aspect. There was the editor from Norton in a tweedy sport coat. There was an art director hired by Norton and two technicians from a company called DigitalFusion, who had flown to Zurich from Southern California with what looked to be a half-ton of computer and camera equipment.

Shamdasani arrived ahead of us. And so did Ulrich Hoerni, who, along with his cousin Peter Jung, had become a cautious supporter of Shamdasani, working to build consensus inside the family to allow the book out into the world. Hoerni was the one to fetch the book from the bank and was now standing by, his brow furrowed, appearing somewhat tortured. To talk to Jung’s heirs is to understand that nearly four decades after his death, they continue to reel inside the psychic tornado Jung created during his lifetime, caught between the opposing forces of his admirers and critics and between their own filial loyalties and history’s pressing tendency to judge and rejudge its own playmakers. Hoerni would later tell me that Shamdasani’s discovery of the stray copies of the Red Book surprised him, that even today he’s not entirely clear about whether Carl Jung ever intended for the Red Book to be published. “He left it an open question,” he said. “One might think he would have taken some of his children aside and said, ‘This is what it is and what I want done with it,’ but he didn’t.” It was a burden Hoerni seemed to wear heavily. He had shown up at the photo studio not just with the Red Book in its special padded suitcase but also with a bedroll and a toothbrush, since after the day’s work was wrapped, he would be spending the night curled up near the book — “a necessary insurance measure,” he would explain.

And finally, there sunbathing under the lights, sat Carl Jung’s Red Book, splayed open to Page 37. One side of the open page showed an intricate mosaic painting of a giant holding an ax, surrounded by winged serpents and crocodiles. The other side was filled with a cramped German calligraphy that seemed at once controlled and also, just given the number of words on the page, created the impression of something written feverishly, cathartically. Above the book a 10,200-pixel scanner suspended on a dolly clicked and whirred, capturing the book one-tenth of a millimeter at a time and uploading the images into a computer.

The Red Book had an undeniable beauty. Its colors seemed almost to pulse, its writing almost to crawl. Shamdasani’s relief was palpable, as was Hoerni’s anxiety. Everyone in the room seemed frozen in a kind of awe, especially Stephen Martin, who stood about eight feet away from the book but then finally, after a few minutes, began to inch closer to it. When the art director called for a break, Martin leaned in, tilting his head to read some of the German on the page. Whether he understood it or not, he didn’t say. He only looked up and smiled.

ONE AFTERNOON I took a break from the scanning and visited Andreas Jung, who lives with his wife, Vreni, in C. G. Jung’s old house at 228 Seestrasse in the town of Küsnacht. The house — a 5,000-square-foot, 1908 baroque-style home, designed by the psychiatrist and financed largely with his wife, Emma’s, inheritance — sits on an expanse between the road and the lake. Two rows of trimmed, towering topiary trees create a narrow passage to the entrance. The house faces the white-capped lake, a set of manicured gardens and, in one corner, an anomalous, unruly patch of bamboo.

Andreas is a tall man with a quiet demeanor and a gentlemanly way of dressing. At 64, he resembles a thinner, milder version of his famous grandfather, whom he refers to as “C. G.” Among Jung’s five children (all but one are dead) and 19 grandchildren (all but five are still living), he is one of the youngest and also known as the most accommodating to curious outsiders. It is an uneasy kind of celebrity. He and Vreni make tea and politely serve cookies and dispense little anecdotes about Jung to those courteous enough to make an advance appointment. “People want to talk to me and sometimes even touch me,” Andreas told me, seeming both amused and a little sheepish. “But it is not at all because of me, of course. It is because of my grandfather.” He mentioned that the gardeners who trim the trees are often perplexed when they encounter strangers — usually foreigners — snapping pictures of the house. “In Switzerland, C. G. Jung is not thought to be so important,” he said. “They don’t see the point of it.”

Jung, who was born in the mountain village of Kesswil, was a lifelong outsider in Zurich, even as in his adult years he seeded the city with his followers and became — along with Paul Klee and Karl Barth — one of the best-known Swissmen of his era. Perhaps his marginalization stemmed in part from the offbeat nature of his ideas. (He was mocked, for example, for publishing a book in the late 1950s that examined the psychological phenomenon of flying saucers.) Maybe it was his well-documented abrasiveness toward people he found uninteresting. Or maybe it was connected to the fact that he broke with the established ranks of his profession. (During the troubled period when he began writing the Red Book, Jung resigned from his position at Burghölzli, never to return.) Most likely, too, it had something to do with the unconventional, unhidden, 40-something-year affair he conducted with a shy but intellectually forbidding woman named Toni Wolff, one of Jung’s former analysands who went on to become an analyst as well as Jung’s close professional collaborator and a frequent, if not fully welcome, fixture at the Jung family dinner table.

“The life of C. G. Jung was not easy,” Andreas said. “For the family, it was not easy at all.” As a young man, Andreas had sometimes gone and found his grandfather’s Red Book in the cupboard and paged through it, just for fun. Knowing its author personally, he said, “It was not strange to me at all.”

For the family, C. G. Jung became more of a puzzle after his death, having left behind a large amount of unpublished work and an audience eager to get its hands on it. “There were big fights,” Andreas told me when I visited him again this summer. Andreas, who was 19 when his grandfather died, recalled family debates over whether or not to allow some of Jung’s private letters to be published. When the extended family gathered for the annual Christmas party in Küsnacht, Jung’s children would disappear into a room and have heated discussions about what to do with what he had left behind while his grandchildren played in another room. “My cousins and brothers and I, we thought they were silly to argue over these things,” Andreas said, with a light laugh. “But later when our parents died, we found ourselves having those same arguments.”

Even Jung’s great-grandchildren felt his presence. “He was omnipresent,” Daniel Baumann, whose grandmother was Jung’s daughter Gret, would tell me when I met him later. He described his own childhood with a mix of bitterness and sympathy directed at the older generations. “It was, ‘Jung said this,’ and ‘Jung did that,’ and ‘Jung thought that.’ When you did something, he was always present somehow. He just continued to live on. He was with us. He is still with us,” Baumann said. Baumann is an architect and also the president of the board of the C. G. Jung Institute in Küsnacht. He deals with Jungians all the time, and for them, he said, it was the same. Jung was both there and not there. “It’s sort of like a hologram,” he said. “Everyone projects something in the space, and Jung begins to be a real person again.”

ONE NIGHT DURING the week of the scanning in Zurich, I had a big dream. A big dream, the Jungians tell me, is a departure from all your regular dreams, which in my case meant this dream was not about falling off a cliff or missing an exam. This dream was about an elephant — a dead elephant with its head cut off. The head was on a grill at a suburban-style barbecue, and I was holding the spatula. Everybody milled around with cocktails; the head sizzled over the flames. I was angry at my daughter’s kindergarten teacher because she was supposed to be grilling the elephant head at the barbecue, but she hadn’t bothered to show up. And so the job fell to me. Then I woke up.

At the hotel breakfast buffet, I bumped into Stephen Martin and a Californian analyst named Nancy Furlotti, who is the vice president on the board of the Philemon Foundation and was at that moment having tea and muesli.

“How are you?” Martin said.

“Did you dream?” Furlotti asked

“What do elephants mean to you?” Martin asked after I relayed my dream.

“I like elephants,” I said. “I admire elephants.”

“There’s Ganesha,” Furlotti said, more to Martin than to me. “Ganesha is an Indian god of wisdom.”

“Elephants are maternal,” Martin offered, “very caring.”

They spent a few minutes puzzling over the archetypal role of the kindergarten teacher. “How do you feel about her?” “Would you say she is more like a mother figure or more like a witch?”

Giving a dream to a Jungian analyst is a little bit like feeding a complex quadratic equation to someone who really enjoys math. It takes time. The process itself is to be savored. The solution is not always immediately evident. In the following months, I told my dream to several more analysts, and each one circled around similar symbolic concepts about femininity and wisdom. One day I was in the office of Murray Stein, an American analyst who lives in Switzerland and serves as the president of the International School of Analytical Psychology, talking about the Red Book. Stein was telling me about how some Jungian analysts he knew were worried about the publication — worried specifically that it was a private document and would be apprehended as the work of a crazy person, which then reminded me of my crazy dream. I related it to him, saying that the very thought of eating an elephant’s head struck me as grotesque and embarrassing and possibly a sign there was something deeply wrong with my psyche. Stein assured me that eating is a symbol for integration. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “It’s horrifying on a naturalistic level, but symbolically it is good.”

It turned out that nearly everybody around the Red Book was dreaming that week. Nancy Furlotti dreamed that we were all sitting at a table drinking amber liquid from glass globes and talking about death. (Was the scanning of the book a death? Wasn’t death followed by rebirth?) Sonu Shamdasani dreamed that he came upon Hoerni sleeping in the garden of a museum. Stephen Martin was sure that he had felt some invisible hand patting him on the back while he slept. And Hugh Milstein, one of the digital techs scanning the book, passed a tormented night watching a ghostly, white-faced child flash on a computer screen. (Furlotti and Martin debated: could that be Mercurius? The god of travelers at a crossroads?)

Early one morning we were standing around the photo studio discussing our various dreams when Ulrich Hoerni trudged through the door, having deputized his nephew Felix to spend the previous night next to the Red Book. Felix had done his job; the Red Book lay sleeping with its cover closed on the table. But Hoerni, appearing weary, seemed to be taking an extra hard look at the book. The Jungians greeted him. “How are you? Did you dream last night?”

“Yes,” Hoerni said quietly, not moving his gaze from the table. “I dreamed the book was on fire.”

ABOUT HALFWAY THROUGH the Red Book — after he has traversed a desert, scrambled up mountains, carried God on his back, committed murder, visited hell; and after he has had long and inconclusive talks with his guru, Philemon, a man with bullhorns and a long beard who flaps around on kingfisher wings — Jung is feeling understandably tired and insane. This is when his soul, a female figure who surfaces periodically throughout the book, shows up again. She tells him not to fear madness but to accept it, even to tap into it as a source of creativity. “If you want to find paths, you should also not spurn madness, since it makes up such a great part of your nature.”

The Red Book is not an easy journey — it wasn’t for Jung, it wasn’t for his family, nor for Shamdasani, and neither will it be for readers. The book is bombastic, baroque and like so much else about Carl Jung, a willful oddity, synched with an antediluvian and mystical reality. The text is dense, often poetic, always strange. The art is arresting and also strange. Even today, its publication feels risky, like an exposure. But then again, it is possible Jung intended it as such. In 1959, after having left the book more or less untouched for 30 or so years, he penned a brief epilogue, acknowledging the central dilemma in considering the book’s fate. “To the superficial observer,” he wrote, “it will appear like madness.” Yet the very fact he wrote an epilogue seems to indicate that he trusted his words would someday find the right audience.

Shamdasani figures that the Red Book’s contents will ignite both Jung’s fans and his critics. Already there are Jungians planning conferences and lectures devoted to the Red Book, something that Shamdasani finds amusing. Recalling that it took him years to feel as if he understood anything about the book, he’s curious to know what people will be saying about it just months after it is published. As far as he is concerned, once the book sees daylight, it will become a major and unignorable piece of Jung’s history, the gateway into Carl Jung’s most inner of inner experiences. “Once it’s published, there will be a ‘before’ and ‘after’ in Jungian scholarship,” he told me, adding, “it will wipe out all the biographies, just for starters.” What about the rest of us, the people who aren’t Jungians, I wondered. Was there something in the Red Book for us? “Absolutely, there is a human story here,” Shamdasani said. “The basic message he’s sending is ‘Value your inner life.’ ”

After it was scanned, the book went back to its bank-vault home, but it will move again — this time to New York, accompanied by a number of Jung’s descendents. For the next few months it will be on display at the Rubin Museum of Art. Ulrich Hoerni told me this summer that he assumed the book would generate “criticism and gossip,” but by bringing it out they were potentially rescuing future generations of Jungs from some of the struggles of the past. If another generation inherited the Red Book, he said, “the question would again have to be asked, ‘What do we do with it?’ ”

Stephen Martin too will be on hand for the book’s arrival in New York. He is already sensing that it will shed positive light on Jung — this thanks to a dream he had recently about an “inexpressively sublime” dawn breaking over the Swiss Alps — even as others are not so certain.

In the Red Book, after Jung’s soul urges him to embrace the madness, Jung is still doubtful. Then suddenly, as happens in dreams, his soul turns into “a fat, little professor,” who expresses a kind of paternal concern for Jung.

Jung says: “I too believe that I’ve completely lost myself. Am I really crazy? It’s all terribly confusing.”

The professor responds: “Have patience, everything will work out. Anyway, sleep well.”

Mentally ill and elderly people held in squalid chicken coops, authorities say

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 23:37:00 +0000

Mentally ill and elderly people held in squalid chicken coops, authorities say

San Bernardino authorities arrested a woman Friday who they say boarded 22 mentally ill, elderly and other people in prison-like conditions, housing some in converted chicken coops behind razor wire fences.

Pensri Sophar Dalton, 61, was arrested on 16 counts of suspected elder abuse, according to City Atty. James F. Penman. Some of the people appeared to have mental health issues, he said.

“The stench was pretty horrific,” Penman said. “These were very squalid conditions.”

The people were being held in dilapidated buildings, some without running water or toilets. The facility is not licensed with the state or the city, Penman said. Two milk box crates containing prescription medicines were found at the site. At least two of the residents were in wheelchairs.

Police arrested Dalton after going to her home in the 2800 block of North Golden Avenue to arrest a man with outstanding warrants for drunk driving, according Penman said.

Penman said that while some residents were held in converted chicken coops, others lived in shared bedrooms, the doors of which had padlocks on them. Residents ate on two picnic tables beneath a metal roof outside on a dirt floor.

There is no "real" psychology

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 14:15:00 +0000

By William Todd Schultz
May 29 2009

A recent post on "real psychology"--as opposed to all the fake or unreal psychology out there--got me thinking. The day we all decide on what real psychology is, is the day psychology dies. Real psychology equals dead-ended, myopic, oversimplification--of subject matter and of methodology. Real psychology is a means-centered approach. That is to say: only psychologists making use of prescribed, narrowly-defined "scientistic" methods are allowed into the fold. All others are touchy-feely, hopelessly subjective trespassers. Such a stance is 1) naïve, 2) unhistorical, and 3) regressive.

The study of the mind goes way back, of course, but let's just look at the 20th century. We had Wundt and his "experimental introspection," research into things like reaction time. We had the wonderfully overreaching brilliance of William James, who was into the same things as Wundt--attention, memory, sensation--but also psychic phenomena, religious experience, and philosophy and art. We had Freud and psychoanalysis. We had Jung and his association experiments. Then there was the biologically reductionistic doings of psychiatry that led, by the 1950s, to seizure therapies and lobotomy. Skinner's radical behaviorism had its day, followed by the cognitive revolution and, in time, by neuroscience. Lots always going on, in other words, from lots of different angles. Methodologically speaking, there was case study, experimentation, introspection, animal behavior, surveys, projective techniques, dream analysis, phenomenology, lesion studies--the list goes on and on. Methodological pluralism was/is the norm. But still today, let's face it, psychology is more or less in the Stone Ages. No doubt much has been accomplished. Powerful mid-level theories do exist that are promisingly predictive. But as for the great big questions, those enduring mysteries, we've taken only very small steps. We still don't know why we dream. We still don't know what causes schizophrenia. We still can't make solid sense of the function of consciousness. So let's not start proclaiming what real psychology is. Better to keep that question helpfully unanswered.

Psychology's disorder now is multiple personality, and in a way that's fine. What we've got is something like 60 sub-disciplines leaving in their wake a farrago of sub sub-disciplines. Each sub-discipline is pretty insular, there is little harmony overall (far more cacophony), and what's especially funny is this: every sub-discipline tends to believe--according to an in-group, out-group dynamic--that it is THE ONLY ONE DOING REAL PSYCHOLOGY. In fact, each is focusing on its own little hiccup of mind, its own pet variables, while mainly neglecting the questions other sub-disciplines find so essential. So each sub-discipline inflates the importance of its methods/questions while devaluing the methods/questions of other sub-disciplines. That attitude was on hair-raising display in the post cited at the top of this one.

Take my situation. I have a PhD in Personality from UC Davis. Now, presently, with some important exceptions, Social Psychologists sometimes devalue Personality Science while Personality Psychologists sometimes devalue Social Psychology. I like to think of this as the narcissism of minor differences, but that's another subject altogether.

I also do qualitative case study research that in my case goes by the name of Psychobiography. According to some, that's not real psychology because it is not experimental. Well, someone should have clued in Piaget, Erikson, Maslow, Freud, Jung, James, Skinner (who also used single-subject design), RD Laing, Henry Murray, Silvan Tomkins, etc etc etc, ALL OF WHOM DID CASE STUDY AND ALL OF WHOM ARE REGARDED AS SEMINAL FIGURES IN THE FIELD. I don't know, it's a strangely territorial neurotic mind-set that 1) believes itself in possession of true knowledge and 2) feels a need to tell lowly others that what they are up to is BS.

I say this: we psychologists know a lot less than we think we do, and at this very early stage of the game in the study of mind, all promising approaches and questions are welcome. The more the merrier. Does anything go? No. But is there one real psychology? Double no.

Published on Psychology Today (http://www.psychologytoday.com)

Artistic tendencies linked to 'schizophrenia gene'

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 05:48:00 +0000

Salvador Dali's mental disorders were also the key to his creativity.

We're all familiar with the stereotype of the tortured artist. Salvador Dali's various disorders and Sylvia Plath's depression spring to mind. Now new research seems to show why: a genetic mutation linked to psychosis and schizophrenia also influences creativity.

The finding could help to explain why mutations that increase a person's risk of developing mental illnesses such as schizophrenia and bipolar syndrome have been preserved, even preferred, during human evolution, says Szabolcs Kéri, a researcher at Semmelweis University in Budapest, Hungary, who carried out the study.

Kéri examined a gene involved in brain development called neuregulin 1, which previous studies have linked to a slightly increased risk of schizophrenia. Moreover, a single DNA letter mutation that affects how much of the neuregulin 1 protein is made in the brain has been linked to psychosis, poor memory and sensitivity to criticism.

About 50 per cent of healthy Europeans have one copy of this mutation, while 15 per cent possess two copies.
Creative thinking

To determine how these variations affect creativity, Kéri genotyped 200 adults who responded to adverts seeking creative and accomplished volunteers. He also gave the volunteers two tests of creative thinking, and devised an objective score of their creative achievements, such as filing a patent or writing a book.

People with two copies of the neuregulin 1 mutation – about 12 per cent of the study participants – tended to score notably higher on these measures of creativity, compared with other volunteers with one or no copy of the mutation. Those with one copy were also judged to be more creative, on average, than volunteers without the mutation. All told, the mutation explained between 3 and 8 per cent of the differences in creativity, Kéri says.

Exactly how neuregulin 1 affects creativity isn't clear. Volunteers with two copies of the mutation were no more likely than others to possess so-called schizotypal traits, such as paranoia, odd speech patterns and inappropriate emotions. This would suggest that the mutation's connection to mental illness does not entirely explain its link to creativity, Kéri says.
Dampening the brain

Rather, Kéri speculates that the mutation dampens a brain region that reins in mood and behaviour, called the prefrontal cortex. This change could unleash creative potential in some people and psychotic delusions in others.

Intelligence could be one factor that determines whether the neuregulin 1 mutation boosts creativity or contributes to psychosis. Kéri's volunteers tended to be smarter than average. In contrast, another study of families with a history of schizophrenia found that the same mutation was associated with lower intelligence and psychotic symptoms.

"My clinical experience is that high-IQ people with psychosis have more intellectual capacity to deal with psychotic experiences," Kéri says. "It's not enough to experience those feelings, you have to communicate them."
Intelligence's influence

Jeremy Hall, a geneticist at the University of Edinburgh in the UK who uncovered the link between the neuregulin 1 mutation and psychosis, agrees that the gene's effects are probably influenced by cognitive factors such as intelligence.

This doesn't mean that psychosis and creativity are the same, though. "There's always been this slightly romantic idea that madness and genius are the flipside to the same coin. How much is that true? Madness is often madness and doesn't have as much genetic association with intelligence," Hall says.

Bernard Crespi, a behavioural geneticist at Simon Fraser University in Burnaby, British Columbia, Canada, is holding his applause for now. "This is a very interesting study with remarkably strong results, though it must be replicated in an independent population before the results can be accepted with confidence," he says.

http://current.com/items/90359691_art-for-u.htm

http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn17474-artistic-tendencies-linked-to-schizophrenia-gene.html

Have psychiatric wards changed?

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 05:59:00 +0000

Have psychiatric wards changed?

The difference in a psychopath brain

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 04:26:00 +0000

The difference in a psychopath brain

Providing Psychotherapy for the Poor

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 05:49:00 +0000

Innovative counseling programs in developing countries are repairing the psyches of civil war survivors and depressed mothers alike

By Mason Inman

It had been four years since 13-year-old Mohamed Abdul escaped civil war in Somalia, but he still had nightmares and flashbacks. When he was nine years old, a crowd fleeing a street shooting trampled him, putting him in the hospital for two weeks. A month later he saw the aftermath of an apparent massacre: about 20 corpses floating in the ocean. Soon after, militia-men shot him in the leg, knocked him unconscious, then raped his best friend, a girl named Halimo.

Recovering in the hospital, Abdul (not his real name) was overwhelmed by fear—and guilt, for not having helped Halimo. He felt unprovoked fury: he mistook people he knew well for the rapist and threatened to kill them. A few months later Abdul fled his homeland and landed in the Nakivale refugee settlement in Uganda. “I felt as if there were two personalities living inside me,” he said at the time. “One was smart and kind and normal; the other one was crazy and violent.”

Abdul had post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), an ailment characterized by fear, hyperarousal and vivid replays of the traumatic event. Fortunately, this refugee camp had an extraordinary resource. Psychologist Frank Neuner of Bielefeld University in Germany was offering “narrative exposure therapy” to its 14,400 Africans, mostly Rwandans. The approach coaxes trauma survivors to assimilate their troubling memories into their life stories and thereby regain some emotional balance.

After four 60- to 90-minute therapy sessions, Abdul’s flashbacks and nightmares disappeared; he was still easily startled but no longer felt out of control. His doctors deemed him “cured.”

Researchers and aid workers have historically overlooked mental health in developing countries, focusing instead on issues such as malnutrition, disease and high infant mortality, but that is changing. “What’s changed in the past 10 years is the realization that mental health is not separate from general health,” explains child psychiatrist Atif Rahman of the University of Liverpool in England.

Recent psychotherapy trials have achieved remarkable success in improving the lives of war survivors such as Abdul, poor mothers with postpartum depression and others victimized by the stresses of extreme poverty. The keys to a workable program for the impoverished include training ordinary citizens to be counselors and, in some cases, disguising the remedy as something other than a fix for emotional troubles.

Treating Trauma
Although many people think of mental illness as a plague of fast-paced modern life, some psychiatric ailments are actually more prevalent in the developing world, according to the World Health Organization. Of the several dozen wars and armed conflicts around the globe, nearly all are in developing countries, and this violence is leading to PTSD, which hinders recovery after the conflicts subside. Across South Asia, new mothers suffer from depression more frequently than they do in richer countries, according to a 2003 report by Rahman and his colleagues.

People in underprivileged nations also experience more severe economic stresses. “This pileup of adversities is associated with low mental health,” says sociologist Ronald Kessler of Harvard Medical School. For individuals living on the edge of survival, the economic ramifications of a mental illness can be especially devastating. When someone has a major mental illness, “you’ve lost their labor and their input,” notes mental health researcher Paul Bolton of Johns Hopkins University.

To make up for the deficit of mental health care professionals in the developing world, Neuner and his team recruited refugees from the camp. Anybody who could read, write and be empathetic was a candidate. Because nearly one third of the Rwandan refugees and half of the Somalis suffered from PTSD, many of the would-be counselors needed to be treated first.

For a PTSD sufferer, distressing experiences are divorced from time or place and out of sync with the person’s life story. “Once these memories are activated, usually the interpretation of the brain of what’s happening is that there’s a danger right now, because the brain is not really aware that it’s just a memory,” Neuner points out. “We want to nail down this vivid emotional representation. We want to bring it where it belongs and connect it with your life history.”

Accordingly, refugee therapists spent six weeks learning to help patients shape their lives into a coherent story, incorporating major traumas into the narrative. The strategy worked. Seventy percent of those who received the therapy no longer displayed significant PTSD symptoms at a nine-month follow-up assessment compared to a 37 percent recovery rate among a group of untreated refugees.

Empowering Mothers
In Rawalpindi, a largely rural district of Pakistan, nearly 30 percent of new mothers become depressed—about twice the rate in the developed world. In addition to its toll on mothers, postpartum depression can harm babies’ emotional and, in South Asia, physical development. Most of these women consider their symptoms the fate of poor folk or believe that they are caused by tawiz, or black magic. Many are anxious about talking about their problems and being labeled as ill. What is more, Rawalpindi has only three psychiatrists for its more than 3.5 million residents.

To get around such stigmas and barriers, Rahman and his colleagues recruited government employees known as lady health workers to integrate mental health therapy into their home visits to mothers. Ordinarily, these workers visit homes 16 times a year to give advice on infant nutrition and child rearing.

A two-day course enabled these health workers to add mental health to their curriculum. Rahman’s approach is based on cognitive-behavior therapy, in which a counselor tries to correct distorted and negative ways of thinking either by discussing them openly or by suggesting more adaptive behaviors. If a mother said she could not afford to feed her baby healthful food, for example, the lady health worker would question that assumption and suggest incremental improvements to the baby’s diet. A year after giving birth, mothers given this psychologically sensitive advice showed half the rate of major depression of those who received traditional health visits. The strategy worked by empowering the women to solve problems, Rahman believes.

More efforts to bring psychiatry to the poor are under way, such as a trial in Pakistan in which community health workers help to ensure that schizophrenics take their medications. But the biggest hurdle is scaling up these treatments to meet the great need.

Note: This article was originally printed with the title, "Psychotherapy for the Poor".

A Wiring Diagram in the Brain for Depression

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 05:40:00 +0000

Researchers pinpoint a crucial crossroads for brain communication and a target for a radical depression treatment

By David Dobbs
April 6, 2009

Depression’s Wiring Diagram

When Helen Mayberg started curing depression by stimulating a previously unknown neural junction box in a brain area called Brodmann’s area 25—discovered through 20 years of dogged research—people asked her where she was going to look next. Her reaction was, “What do you mean, Where am I going to look next? I’m going to look more closely here!”

Her closer look is now paying off. In a series of papers last year, Mayberg and several of her colleagues used diffusion tensor imaging (DTI) to reveal the neural circuitry of depression at new levels of precision. This MRI technique illuminates the connective tracts in the brain. For depression, the resulting map may allow a better understanding of what drives the disorder—and much better targeting and patient selection for treatments such as deep-brain stimulation (DBS) that seek to tweak this circuitry.

In the early 2000s Mayberg and Wayne C. Drevets, then at Washington University Medical School, separately established that area 25, which appeared to connect several brain regions involved in mood, thought and emotion, is hyperactive in depressed patients. The area’s significance was confirmed when Mayberg and her colleagues at the University of Toronto—neurosurgeon Andres Lazano and psychiatrist Sidney Kennedy—used DBS devices to bring relief to 12 out of 20 intractably depressed patients [see “Turning Off Depression,” by David Dobbs; Scientific American Mind, August/September 2006]. “That confirmed my hypothesis that area 25 is an important crossroads,” Mayberg says. “But exactly what circuits were we affecting?”

The recent papers take her much closer to answering this question. Working with fellow imaging experts Heidi Johansen-Berg and Tim Behrens of the University of Oxford and others, Mayberg used DTI to produce detailed images of area 25’s “tractography,” the layout of the white matter tracts that connect disparate brain regions. They identified five connective tracts that run through this pea-size region, carrying neural traffic among five vital areas: the amygdala, a deep-brain area that moderates fear and other emotions; the orbitofrontal and medial frontal cortices, two poorly understood areas that appear to be significant in expectation, reward processing, error assessment, learning and decision making; the hippocampus, vital to memory; and the hypothalamus, which helps to regulate stress and arousal.

The refined imaging of these tracts does more than just confirm Mayberg’s previous work identifying area 25 as a junction box. It also gives her a map that provides diagnostic and targeting information for DBS treatments of the area. As she expected, the locations of those tracts varies among individuals. “And this variation,” Mayberg says, “along with variations in the nature of different patients’ depression, probably explains why some patients respond better than others. Because the location varies, we’re not hitting all five tracts the same way in every patient.”

In a new study of 20 more patients she began at Emory University, Mayberg plans to analyze the tractography and electrode placement to see which of the tracts seems to be most essential to the treatment’s success. That investigation may reveal yet more about the nature of depression—and it might help Mayberg identify which patients will benefit from surgery so she can spare those it will not help.

Meanwhile a kind of DBS gold rush has developed as other scientists slide neuromodulators into different brain areas to try to treat depression, obsessive-compulsive disorder, eating disorders, Tourette’s syndrome, headaches and chronic pain [see “Sparking Recovery with Brain ‘Pacemakers,’ ” by Morton L. Kringelbach and Tipu Z. Aziz; Scientific American Mind, December 2008/January 2009].

Although DBS treatment for depression might receive fda approval in as soon as four or five years, Mayberg does not think it will become common. She is following closely the work of researchers who are seeking ways to modulate tightly defined brain areas such as area 25 with tools less intrusive than electrodes. Stanford University bioengineer Karl Deisseroth, for instance, is having luck stimulating targeted brain areas in mice with proteins called opsins (cousins of retinal cells used in night vision) that can be placed noninvasively and then stimulated with light via a very thin fiber-optic cable rather than electricity from a bulky electrode. He and others hope to develop these or similar tools to create less invasive “switches” that modulate brain areas more cleanly than electrodes do. “There may come a time,” Mayberg says, “when we can work these circuits some other way.”

Note: This article was originally printed with the title, "Insights into the Brain's Circuitry".
"A Wiring Diagram for Depression," Scientific American Mind, April/May 2009, by David Dobbs.

Do ADHD Drugs Take a Toll on the Brain?

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 22:27:00 +0000

Research hints that hidden risks might accompany long-term use of the medicines that treat attention-deficit hyperactivity disorderBy Edmund S. Higgins

A few years ago a single mother who had recently moved to town came to my office asking me to prescribe the stimulant drug Adderall for her sixth-grade son. The boy had been taking the medication for several years, and his mother had liked its effects: it made homework time easier and improved her son’s grades.

At the time of this visit, the boy was off the medication, and I conducted a series of cognitive and behavioral tests on him. He performed wonderfully. I also noticed that off the medication he was friendly and playful.
On a previous casual encounter, when the boy had been on Adderall, he had seemed reserved and quiet. His mother acknowledged this was a side effect of the Adderall. I told her that I did not think her son had attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) and that he did not need medication. That was the last time I saw her.

Attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder afflicts about 5 percent of U.S. children—twice as many boys as girls—age six to 17, according to a recent survey conducted by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. As its name implies, people with the condition have trouble focusing and often are hyperactive or impulsive. An estimated 9 percent of boys and 4 percent of girls in the U.S. are taking stimulant medications as part of their therapy for ADHD, the CDC reported in 2005. The majority of patients take methylphenidate (Ritalin, Concerta), whereas most of the rest are prescribed an amphetamine such as Adderall.

Although it sounds counterintuitive to give stimulants to a person who is hyperactive, these drugs are thought to boost activity in the parts of the brain responsible for attention and self-control. Indeed, the pills can improve attention, concentration and productivity and also suppress impulsive behavior, producing significant improvements in some people’s lives. Severe inattention and impulsivity put individuals at risk for substance abuse, unemployment, crime and car accidents. Thus, appropriate medication might keep a person out of prison, away from addictive drugs or in a job.

Over the past 15 years, however, doctors have been pinning the ADHD label on—and prescribing stimulants for—a rapidly rising number of patients, including those with moderate to mild inattention, some of whom, like the sixth grader I saw, have a normal ability to focus. This trend may be fueled in part by a relaxation of official diagnostic criteria for the disorder, combined with a lower tolerance in society for mild behavioral or cognitive problems.

In addition, patients are no longer just taking the medicines for a few years during grade school but are encouraged to stay on them into adulthood. In 2008 two new stimulants—Vyvanse (amphetamine) and Concerta—received U.S. Food and Drug Administration indications for treating adults, and pharmaceutical firms are pushing awareness of the adult forms of the disorder. What is more, many people who have no cognitive deficits are opting to take these drugs to boost their academic performance. A number of my patients—doctors, lawyers and other professionals—have asked me for stimulants in hopes of boosting their productivity. As a result of these developments, prescriptions for methylphenidate and amphetamine rose by almost 12 percent a year between 2000 and 2005, according to a 2007 study.

With the expanded and extended use of stimulants comes mounting concern that the drugs might take a toll on the brain over the long run. Indeed, a smattering of recent studies, most of them involving animals, hint that stimulants could alter the structure and function of the brain in ways that may depress mood, boost anxiety and, contrary to their short-term effects, lead to cognitive deficits. Human studies already indicate the medications can adversely affect areas of the brain that govern growth in children, and some researchers worry that additional harms have yet to be unearthed.

Medicine for the MindTo appreciate why stimulants could have negative effects over time, it helps to first understand what they do in the brain. One hallmark of ADHD is an underactive frontal cortex, a brain region that lies just behind the forehead and controls such “executive” functions as decision making, predicting future events, and suppressing emotions and urges. This area may, in some cases, be smaller than average in ADHD patients, compromising their executive abilities. Frontal cortex function depends greatly on a signaling chemical, or neurotransmitter, called dopamine, which is released in this structure by neurons that originate in deeper brain structures. Less dopamine in the prefrontal cortex is linked, for example, with cognitive difficulty in old age. Another set of dopamine-releasing neurons extends to the nucleus accumbens, a critical mediator of motivation, pleasure and reward whose function may also be impaired in ADHD.

Stimulants enhance communication in these dopamine-controlled brain circuits by binding to so-called dopamine transporters—the proteins on nerve endings that suck up excess dopamine—thereby deactivating them. As a result, dopamine accumulates outside the neurons, and the additional neurotransmitter is thought to improve the operation of neuronal circuits critical for motivation and impulse control.

Not only can methylphenidate and amphetamine ameliorate a mental deficit, they also can enhance cognitive performance. In studies dating back to the 1970s, researchers have shown that normal children who do not have ADHD also become more attentive—and often calmer—after taking stimulants. In fact, the drugs can lead to higher test scores in students of average and above-average intellectual ability

Since the 1950s, when doctors first started prescribing stimulants to treat behavior problems, millions of people have taken them without obvious incident. A number of studies have even exonerated them from causing possible adverse effects. For example, researchers have failed to find differences between stimulant-treated children and those not on meds in the larger-scale growth of the brain. In January 2009 child psychiatrist Philip Shaw of the National Institute of Mental Health and his colleagues used MRI scans to measure the change in the thickness of the cerebral cortex (the outer covering of the brain) of 43 youths between the ages of 12 and 16 who had ADHD.

The researchers found no evidence that stimulants slowed cortical growth. In fact, only the unmedicated adolescents showed more thinning of the cerebrum than was typical for their age, hinting that the drugs might facilitate normal cortical development in kids with ADHD.

Altering MoodDespite such positive reports, traces of a sinister side to stimulants have also surfaced. In February 2007 the FDA issued warnings about side effects such as growth stunting and psychosis, among other mental disorders. Indeed, the vast majority of adults with ADHD experience at least one additional psychiatric illness—often an anxiety disorder or drug addiction—in their lifetime. Having ADHD is itself a risk factor for other mental health problems, but the possibility also exists that stimulant treatment during childhood might contribute to these high rates of accompanying diagnoses.

After all, stimulants activate the brain’s reward pathways, which are part of the neural circuitry that controls mood under normal conditions. And at least three studies using animals hint that exposure to methylphenidate during childhood may alter mood in the long run, perhaps raising the risk of depression and anxiety in adulthood.

In an experiment published in 2003 psychiatrist Eric Nestler of the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center and his colleagues injected juvenile rats twice a day with a low dose of methylphenidate similar to that prescribed for children with ADHD. When the rats became adults, the scientists observed the rodents’ responses to various emotional stimuli. The rodents that had received methylphenidate were significantly less responsive to natural rewards such as sugar, sex, and fun, novel environments than were untreated rats, suggesting that the drug-exposed animals find such stimuli less pleasurable. In addition, the stimulants apparently made the rats more sensitive to stressful situations such as being forced to swim inside a large tube. Similarly, in the same year psychiatrist William Carlezon of Harvard Medical School and his colleagues reported that methylphenidate-treated preadolescent rats displayed a muted response to a cocaine reward as adults as well as unusual apathy in a forced-swim test, a sign of depression.

In 2008 psychopharmacologist Leandro F. Vendruscolo and his co-workers at Federal University of Santa Catarina in Brazil echoed these results using spontaneously hypertensive rats, which—like children with ADHD—sometimes show attention deficits, hyperactivity and motor impulsiveness. The researchers injected these young rats with methylphenidate for 16 days at doses approximating those used to treat ADHD in young people. Four weeks later, when the rats were young adults, those that had been exposed to methylphenidate were unusually anxious: they avoided traversing the central area of an open, novel space more so than did rats not exposed to methylphenidate. Adverse effects of this stimulant, the authors speculate, could contribute to the high rates of anxiety disorders among ADHD patients.

Copying Cocaine? The long-term use of any drug that affects the brain’s reward circuitry also raises the specter of addiction. Methyl-phenidate has a chemical structure similar to that of cocaine and acts on the brain in a very similar way. Both cocaine and methamphetamine (also called “speed” or “meth”)—another highly addictive stimulant—block dopamine transporters just as ADHD drugs do [see “New Weapons against Cocaine Addiction,” by Peter Sergo; Scientific American Mind, April/May 2008]. In the case of the illicit drugs, the dopamine surge is so sudden that in addition to making a person unusually energetic and alert, it produces a “high.”

Recent experiments in animals have sounded the alarm that methylphenidate may alter the brain in ways similar to that of more powerfully addictive stimulants such as cocaine.

In February 2009 neuroscientists Yong Kim and Paul Greengard, along with their colleagues at the Rockefeller University, reported cocainelike structural and chemical alterations in the brains of mice given methylphenidate. The researchers injected the mice with either methylphenidate or cocaine daily for two weeks. Both treatments increased the density of tiny extensions called spines at the ends of neurons bearing dopamine receptors in the rodent nucleus accumbens. Compared with cocaine, methylphenidate had a somewhat more localized influence; it also had more power over longer spines and less effect on shorter ones. Otherwise, the drugs’ effects were strikingly similar.

Furthermore, the scientists found that methylphenidate boosted the amount of a protein called ΔFosB, which turns genes on and off, even more than cocaine did. That result could be a chemical warning of future problems: excess ΔFosB heightens an animal’s sensitivity to the rewarding effects of cocaine and makes the animal more likely to ingest the drug. Many former cocaine addicts struggle with depression, anxiety and cognitive problems. Researchers have found that cocaine has remodeled the brains of such ex-users. Similar problems—principally, perhaps, difficulty experiencing joy and excitement in life—could occur after many years of Ritalin or Adderall use.

Amphetamine and methylphenidate can also be addictive if abused by, say, crushing or snorting the pills. In a classic study published in 1995 research psychiatrist Nora Volkow, then at Stony Brook University, and her colleagues showed that injections of methylphenidate produced a cocainelike high in volunteers. More than seven million people in the U.S. have abused methylphenidate, and as many as 750,000 teenagers and young adults show signs of addiction, according to a 2006 report.

Typical oral doses of ADHD meds rarely produce such euphoria and are not usually addicting. Furthermore, the evidence to date, including two 2008 studies from the National Institute on Drug Abuse, indicates that children treated with stimulants early in life are not more likely than other children to become addicted to drugs as adults. In fact, the risk for severe cases of ADHD may run in the opposite direction. (A low addiction risk also jibes with Carlezon’s earlier findings, which indicated that methylphenidate use in early life mutes adult rats’ response to cocaine.)

Corrupting CognitionAmphetamines such as Adderall could alter the mind in other ways. A team led by psychologist Stacy A. Castner of the Yale University School of Medicine has documented long-lasting behavioral oddities, such as hallucinations, and cognitive impairment in rhesus monkeys that received escalating injected doses of amphetamine over either six or 12 weeks.

Compared with monkeys given inactive saline, the drug-treated monkeys displayed deficits in working memory—the short-term buffer that allows us to hold several items in mind—which persisted for at least three years after exposure to the drug. The researchers connected these cognitive problems to a significantly lower level of dopamine activity in the frontal cortex of the drug-treated monkeys as compared with that of the monkeys not given amphetamine.
Underlying such cognitive and behavioral effects may be subtle structural changes too small to show up on brain scans. In a 1997 study psychologists Terry E. Robinson and Bryan Kolb of the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor found that high injected doses of amphetamine in rats cause the major output neurons of the nucleus accumbens to sprout longer branches, or dendrites, as well as additional spines on those dendrites. A decade later Castner’s team linked lower doses of amphetamine to subtle atrophy of neurons in the prefrontal cortex of monkeys.

A report published in 2005 by neurologist George A. Ricaurte and his team at the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine is even more damning to ADHD meds because the researchers used realistic doses and drug delivery by mouth instead of by injection. Ricaurte’s group trained baboons and squirrel monkeys to self-administer an oral formulation of amphetamine similar to Adderall: the animals drank an amphetamine-laced orange cocktail twice a day for four weeks, mimicking the dosing schedule in humans. Two to four weeks later the researchers detected evidence of amphetamine-induced brain damage, encountering lower levels of dopamine and fewer dopamine transporters on nerve endings in the striatum—a trio of brain regions that includes the nucleus accumbens—in amphetamine-treated primates than in untreated animals. The authors believe these observations reflect a drug-related loss of dopamine-releasing nerve fibers that reach the striatum from the brain stem.

One possible consequence of a loss of dopamine and its associated molecules is Parkinson’s disease, a movement disorder that can also lead to cognitive deficits. A study in humans published in 2006 hints at a link between Parkinson’s and a prolonged exposure to amphetamine in any form (not just that prescribed for ADHD). Before Parkinson’s symptoms such as tremors and muscle rigidity appear, however, dopamine’s function in the brain must decline by 80 to 90 percent, or by about twice as much as what Ricaurte and his colleagues saw in baboons that were drinking a more moderate dose of the drug. And some studies have found no connection between stimulant use and Parkinson’s.

Stimulants do seem to stunt growth in children. Otherwise, however, studies in humans have largely failed to demonstrate any clear indications of harm from taking ADHD medications as prescribed. Whether the drugs alter the human brain in the same way they alter that of certain animals is unknown, because so far little clinical data exist on their long-term neurological effects. Even when the dosing is similar or the animals have something resembling ADHD, different species’ brains may have varying sensitivities to stimulant medications.

Nevertheless, in light of the emerging evidence, many doctors and researchers are recommending a more cautious approach to the medical use of stimulants. Some are urging the adoption of strict diagnostic criteria for ADHD and a policy restricting prescriptions for individuals who fit those criteria. Others are advocating behavior modification—which can be as effective as stimulants over the long run—as a first-line approach to combating the disorder. Certain types of mental exercises may also ease ADHD symptoms [see “Train Your Brain,” by Ulrich Kraft; Scientific American Mind, February/March 2006]. For patients who require stimulants, some neurologists and psychiatrists have also suggested using the lowest dose needed or monitoring the blood levels of these drugs as a way of keeping concentrations below those shown to be problematic in other mammals. Without these or similar measures, large numbers of people who regularly take stimulants may ultimately struggle with a new set of problems spawned by the treatments themselves.

Growing ProblemsSo far the best-documented problem associated with the stimulants used to treat attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) concerns growth. Human growth is controlled at least in part through the hypothalamus and pituitary at the base of the brain. Studies in mice hint that stimulants may increase levels of the neurotransmitter dopamine in the hypothalamus as well as in the striatum (a three-part brain structure that includes part of its reward circuitry) and that the excess dopamine may reach the pituitary by way of the bloodstream and act to retard growth.

Recent work strongly indicates that the drugs can stunt growth in children. In a 2007 analysis of a National Institute of Mental Health study of ADHD treatments involving 579 children, research psychiatrist Nora Volkow, who directs the National Institute of Drug Abuse, and her colleagues compared growth rates of unmedicated seven- to 10-year-olds over three years with those of kids who took stimulants throughout that period. Relative to the unmedicated youths, the drug-treated youths showed a decrease in growth rate, gaining, on average, two fewer centimeters in height and 2.7 kilograms less in weight. Although this growth-stunting effect came to a halt by the third year, the kids on the meds never caught up to their counterparts.

Brain with ADHD develops differently

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 21:46:00 +0000

• Some brain regions of kids with ADHD are delayed in maturing, says study

• Their brains are delayed an average of three years compared to those without ADHD

• Delay is most evident in brain regions that control thinking, attention and planning

Bottom Line: This may explain why some kids seem to grow out of the disorder

A National Institutes of Health study from November 2007 found that in youth with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, the brain matures in a normal pattern. However, it is delayed three years in some regions, on average, compared with youth without the disorder.

The researchers used a new image analysis technique that allowed them to pinpoint the thinning and thickening of sites in the cortex of the brains of hundreds of children and teens with and without the disorder. The findings bolster the idea that ADHD results from a delay in the maturation of the cortex.

Questions and answersHow does the brain development of kids to ADHD compare with that of other kids?

Dr. Sanjay Gupta, CNN chief medical correspondent: For years, the big question with ADHD has been: Are these kids' brains developing more slowly or are they developing in a completely different way? This NIH study tells us the kids' brains develop more slowly, especially those areas important for control, action and attention. For example, a child who has a healthy brain might achieve maturity in those regions at age 7, while a child with ADHD might not until age 10.

What is important to note about both the "healthy" brain and the "ADHD" brain is that they mature or develop in pretty much the same way, starting from the back to the front. However, the ADHD brain is maturing much more slowly than the brain that does not have ADHD.

What can parents of children with ADHD learn from this?

Gupta: The good news for parents: Your child's brain is developing the same way as the brain of a healthy child, but it may take a few years longer. They will probably outgrow the behaviors that come with ADHD. Will your kids ever catch up with kids who don't have ADHD? They may, but it might be well after adolescence or into adulthood. These brain studies are ongoing.

Does this mean a brain scan might one day help diagnose ADHD?

Gupta: We are not at the point of using this as a diagnostic tool, but this information is very important for understanding ADHD. Knowing that this slower development is an issue, we may one day see treatments that try to accelerate this process. We could also see a dulling of impulsivity such as those inappropriate actions that we see in kids with ADHD.

Has Wikipedia Created a Rorschach Cheat Sheet?

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 15:56:00 +0000

There are tests that have right answers, which are returned with a number on top in a red circle, and there are tests with open-ended questions, which provide insight into the test taker’s mind

By NOAM COHEN
July 29, 2009

The Rorschach test, a series of 10 inkblot plates created by the Swiss psychiatrist Hermann Rorschach for his book “Psychodiagnostik,” published in 1921, is clearly in the second category.

Yet in the last few months, the online encyclopedia Wikipedia has been engulfed in a furious debate involving psychologists who are angry that the 10 original Rorschach plates are reproduced online, along with common responses for each. For them, the Wikipedia page is the equivalent of posting an answer sheet to next year’s SAT.

They are pitted against the overwhelming majority of Wikipedia’s users, who share the site’s “free culture” ethos, which opposes the suppression of information that it is legal to publish. (Because the Rorschach plates were created nearly 90 years ago, they have lost their copyright protection in the United States.)

“The only winners seem to be those for whom this issue has become personal, and who see this as a game in which victory means having their way,” one Wikipedia poster named Faustian wrote on Monday, adding, “Just don’t pretend you are doing anything other than harming scientific research.”

What had been a simmering dispute over the reproduction of a single plate reached new heights in June when James Heilman, an emergency-room doctor from Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, posted images of all 10 plates to the bottom of the article about the test, along with what research had found to be the most popular responses for each.

“I just wanted to raise the bar — whether one should keep a single image on Wikipedia seemed absurd to me, so I put all 10 up,” Dr. Heilman said in an interview. “The debate has exploded from there.”

Psychologists have registered with Wikipedia to argue that the site is jeopardizing one of the oldest continuously used psychological assessment tests.

While the plates have appeared on other Web sites, it was not until they showed up on the popular Wikipedia site that psychologists became concerned.

“The more test materials are promulgated widely, the more possibility there is to game it,” said Bruce L. Smith, a psychologist and president of the International Society of the Rorschach and Projective Methods, who has posted under the user name SPAdoc. He quickly added that he did not mean that a coached subject could fool the person giving the test into making the wrong diagnosis, but rather “render the results meaningless.”

To psychologists, to render the Rorschach test meaningless would be a particularly painful development because there has been so much research conducted — tens of thousands of papers, by Dr. Smith’s estimate — to try to link a patient’s responses to certain psychological conditions. Yes, new inkblots could be used, these advocates concede, but those blots would not have had the research — “the normative data,” in the language of researchers — that allows the answers to be put into a larger context.

And, more fundamentally, the psychologists object whenever diagnostic tools fall into the hands of amateurs who haven’t been trained to administer them. “Our ethics code that governs the behavior of psychologists talks about maintaining test security,” Steve J. Breckler, the executive director for science at the American Psychological Association, said in an interview. “We wouldn’t be in favor of putting the plates out where anyone can get hold of them.”

Alvin G. Burstein, a professor emeritus of psychology at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, wrote in an e-mail message that his preference was to have the images removed but that he did not think they would harm the psychological process.

“The process of making sense of one’s experience,” he wrote, “is gratifying. To take Rorschach’s test is to make sense of ambiguity in the context of someone who is interested in how you do that.”

Trudi Finger, a spokeswoman for Hogrefe & Huber Publishing, the German company that bought an early publisher of Hermann Rorschach’s book, said in an e-mail message last week: “We are assessing legal steps against Wikimedia,” referring to the foundation that runs the Wikipedia sites.

“It is therefore unbelievably reckless and even cynical of Wikipedia,” she said, “to on one hand point out the concerns and dangers voiced by recognized scientists and important professional associations and on the other hand — in the same article — publish the test material along with supposedly ‘expected responses.’ ”

Mike Godwin, the general counsel at Wikimedia, hardly sounded concerned, saying he “had to laugh a bit” at the legal and ethical arguments made in the statement from Hogrefe.

Hogrefe licenses a number of companies in the United States to sell the plates along with interpretative material. One such distributor, Western Psychological Services, sells the plates themselves for $110 and a larger kit for $185. Dr. Heilman, the man who originally posted the material, compared removing the plates to the Chinese government’s attempt to control information about the Tiananmen massacre. That is, it is mainly a dispute about control, he said.

“Restricting information for theoretical concerns is not what we are here to do,” Dr. Heilman said, adding that he was not impressed by the predictions of harm from those who sought to keep the Rorschach plates secret. “Show me the evidence,” he said. “I don’t care what a group of experts says.”

To illustrate his point, Dr. Heilman used the Snellen eye chart, which begins with a big letter E and is readily available on the Wikipedia site.

“If someone had previous knowledge of the eye chart,” he said, “you can go to the car people, and you could recount the chart from memory. You could get into an accident. Should we take it down from Wikipedia?”

And, Dr. Heilman added, “My dad fooled the doctor that way.”

Schizophrenia and Bipolar Disorder Share Genetic Roots

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 18:36:00 +0000

Chromosomal Hotspot of Immunity/Gene Expression Regulation Implicated
A person holding a gene chip, also known as a DNA microarray.

A trio of genome-wide studies – collectively the largest to date – has pinpointed a vast array of genetic variation that cumulatively may account for at least one third of the genetic risk for schizophrenia. One of the studies traced schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, in part, to the same chromosomal neighborhoods.

"These new results recommend a fresh look at our diagnostic categories," said Thomas R. Insel, M.D., director of the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH), part of the National Institutes of Health. "If some of the same genetic risks underlie schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, perhaps these disorders originate from some common vulnerability in brain development."

Three schizophrenia genetics research consortia, each funded in part by NIMH, report separately on their genome-wide association studies online July 1, 2009, in the journal Nature. However, the SGENE, International Schizophrenia (ISC) and Molecular Genetics of Schizophrenia (MGS) consortia shared their results - making possible meta-analyses of a combined sample totaling 8,014 cases and 19,090 controls.

All three studies implicate an area of Chromosome 6 (6p22.1), which is known to harbor genes involved in immunity and controlling how and when genes turn on and off. This hotspot of association might help to explain how environmental factors affect risk for schizophrenia. For example, there are hints of autoimmune involvement in schizophrenia, such as evidence that offspring of mothers with influenza while pregnant have a higher risk of developing the illness.

"Our study was unique in employing a new way of detecting the molecular signatures of genetic variations with very small effects on potential schizophrenia risk," explained Pamela Sklar, M.D., Ph.D., of Harvard University and the Stanley Center for Psychiatric Research, who co-led the ISC team with Harvard's Shaun Purcell, Ph.D.

"Individually, these common variants' effects do not all rise to statistical significance, but cumulatively they play a major role, accounting for at least one third – and probably much more – of disease risk," said Purcell.

Among sites showing the strongest associations with schizophrenia was a suspect area on Chromosome 22 and more than 450 variations in the suspect area on Chromosome 6. Statistical simulations confirmed that the findings could not have been accounted for by a handful of common gene variants with large effect or just rare variants. This involvement of many common gene variants suggests that schizophrenia in different people might ultimately be traceable to distinct disease processes, say the researchers.

"There was substantial overlap in the genetic risk for schizophrenia and bipolar disorder that was specific to mental disorders," added Sklar. "We saw no association between the suspect gene variants and half a dozen common non-psychiatric disorders."

Still, most of the genetic contribution to schizophrenia, which is estimated to be at least 70 percent heritable, remains unknown.

"Until this discovery, we could explain just a few percent of this contribution; now we have more than 30 percent accounted for," said Thomas Lehner, Ph.D., MPH, chief of NIMH's Genomics Research Branch. "The new findings tell us that many of these secrets have been hidden in complex neural networks, providing hints about where to look for the still elusive – and substantial – remaining genetic contribution."

The MGS consortium pinpointed an association between schizophrenia and genes in the Chromosome 6 region that code for cellular components that control when genes turn on and off. For example, one of the strongest associations was seen in the vicinity of genes for proteins called histones that slap a molecular clamp on a gene's turning on in response to the environment. Genetically rooted variation in the functioning of such regulatory mechanisms could help to explain the environmental component repeatedly implicated in schizophrenia risk.

The MGS study also found an association between schizophrenia and a genetic variation on Chromosome 1 (1p22.1) which has been implicated in multiple sclerosis, an autoimmune disorder.

"Our study results spotlight the importance not only of genes, but also the little-known DNA sequences between genes that control their expression," said Pablo Gejman, M.D., of the NorthShore University HealthSystem Research Institute, of Evanston, ILL, who led the MGS consortium team. "Advances in biotechnology, statistics, population genetics, and psychiatry, in combination with the ability to recruit large samples, made the new findings possible."

The SGENE consortium study pinpointed a site of variation in the suspect Chromosome 6 region that could implicate processes related to immunity and infection. It also found significant evidence of association with variation on Chromosomes 11 and 18 that could help account for the thinking and memory deficits of schizophrenia.

The new findings could eventually lead to multi-gene signatures or biomarkers for severe mental disorders. As more is learned about the implicated gene pathways, it may be possible to sort out what's shared by, or unique to, schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, the researchers say.
Schizophrenia/bipolar disorder genetic overlap

Schizophrenia and bipolar disorder share genetic roots that appear to be specific to serious mental disorders, and are not shared by non-psychiatric illnesses. Bars representing different study samples show that the same genetic variations that account for risk in both mental disorders account for virtually none of the risk for coronary artery disease (CAD), Crohn's disease (CD), hypertension (HT), rheumatoid arthritis (RA), or Type 1 (T1D) or Type 2 (T2D) diabetes.

Source: Psychiatric and Neurodevelopmental Genetics Unit, Center for Human Genetic Research, Harvard University.
References

Jianxin S, et al. Common variants on chromosome 6p22.1 are associated with schizophrenia. July 1, 2009, Nature

Stefansson H, et al. Common variants conferring risk of schizophrenia. July 1, 2009, Nature

Purcell SM, et al. Common polygenic variation contributes to risk of schizophrenia that overlaps with bipolar disorder. July 1, 2009, Nature

Why is it hard to "unlearn" an incorrect fact?

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 17:04:00 +0000

Cognitive psychologist Gordon H. Bower of Stanford University answers

By The Editors

Why is it that once you learn something incorrectly (say, 7 X 9 = 65), it seems you never can correct your recall?
—J. Kruger, Cherry Hill, N.J.

Cognitive psychologist Gordon H. Bower of Stanford University answers:

Identifying, correcting and averting our memory errors are part of a cognitive process called memory monitoring. Incorrect associations can be tough to change, but we can use techniques to retrain our brain.

When strong habits impede our ability to acquire a desired new habit or association, we experience a common phenomenon known as proactive interference. Wrong associations appear in common spelling errors such as “wierd” for “weird” and “neice” for “niece.” Persistent mistaken connections also can cause embarrassing errors, such as calling a man’s second wife by the name of his first. Interference is stronger the more previous wives you’ve had to deal with, and it is more difficult to overcome the stronger the habits are.

Accurate memory monitoring requires a well-functioning prefrontal cortex (PFC). Young children, who have an immature PFC, and stroke patients with extensive PFC damage make more errors as a result of memory-monitoring failures. They are more likely to confuse the source of information they recall, and they are more susceptible to accepting as true an event they only imagined.

You can overcome proactive interference by consistent (even silent) correction, especially when you space rehearsals over time. But it takes some conscious practice. We have to identify (or be told) when we have just made an error so that we can correct it immediately. Our inability to do so is typically the cause of the error’s persistence.

Building on the correct information can help you learn new associations to it: add something to change how you retrieve the item from your memory. You might replace your question “Name of John’s wife?” with “Name of John’s second wife?”; or use an elaboration that contains the accurate information, such as “We are weird” or “My niece is nice”; or convert 7 X 9 into 7 X (10 – 1) = 70 – 7 = 63. As you practice the elaborated association, the simpler direct association (7 X 9 = 63) eventually replaces the earlier one, which weakens without rehearsals. Labeling and rehearsing the wrong association (for example, saying to yourself, “7 X 9 is not 63”), however, are distinctly counterproductive.

VS Ramachandran on your mind

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 21:43:00 +0000

Vilayanur Ramachandran explains what brain damage can reveal about the connection between celebral tissue and the mind, using three startling delusions as examples.

A POW's 'Tears in the Darkness'

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 19:41:00 +0000

Ben Steele recounts surviving the Bataan Death March in World War II
"Men died like flies," says Steele, now 91
Steele's story is recounted in new book "Tears in the Darkness"
Steele forced to confront hatred through chance meeting after war

By John Blake

CNN -- Ben Steele hated the young man as soon as he saw him.

The man's almond-shaped eyes, dark hair and olive skin -- Steele had seen those Asian facial features before.

He saw that face when he watched Japanese soldiers behead sick men begging for water, run over stumbling prisoners with tanks and split his comrades' skulls with rifle butts.

"Men died like flies," Steele says. "I thought for a while I would never make it."

Steele, now 91, is one of the last survivors of the Bataan Death March.

During World War II, the Japanese army forced American and Filipino prisoners of war on a march so horrific that the Japanese commander was later executed for war crimes.

Steele returned home to Montana after the war to teach, but he still had something to learn.

When he saw a young Japanese-American student seated in his class one day, he felt both anger and anguish.

What, he wondered, do I do with all of the hate I've brought home with me?

'The worst war story' he ever heard

Steele's answer to that question can be found in the new book "Tears in the Darkness," a searing depiction of the Bataan Death March.

The book details how Steele found help through an unlikely source. But he would first have to survive one of the worst defeats in U.S. military history.

In December 1941, Japanese forces attacked an army of American and Filipino soldiers in the Philippine Islands and forced them to surrender. They captured 76,000 prisoners, double what they had expected.

The Japanese forced the POWs to march 66 miles under a tropical sun to a railway station for transport. They shot, bayoneted and beat to death prisoners who couldn't keep pace.

At least 7,000 soldiers died during the march.

More died later. The brutal conditions of the march contributed to the subsequent deaths of an estimated 25,000 Filipinos and 1500 Americans in Japanese prison camps, says Michael Norman, a Vietnam veteran who wrote "Tears in the Darkness," with his wife, Elizabeth.

"It's the worst war story I've ever heard," Norman says. "What they [the Japanese] did was monstrous."

Prisoners were forced to bury others alive and work as slave laborers; some were executed for sport. One Japanese soldier, who later became a Buddhist priest, told the authors that he is still haunted by what he did on Bataan.

Some Filipinos who live today near the march's route say that they, too, cannot forget what happened, Elizabeth Norman says.

"They would tell us that when they lay awake at night, they thought they could still hear the trampling of the men's feet on the death march," she says.

Why Steele survived

The death march was filled with villains, but the authors also found a hero: Steele. The march is told through his eyes and drawings.

Steele was a cowboy from Montana who could ride a horse, rope cattle and shoot by the time he was 8 years old.

"I thought that if anybody gets out of here, I'm going to be one of them," says Steele, who was a 22-year-old Army Air Corps private when he was captured.

At times, though, Steele wondered whether he was being too optimistic. He was bayoneted, starved and beaten. He was constantly ill, and his weight fell to 112 pounds.

Steele found a way to preserve his mind even as his body wasted away: He drew. He started sketching pictures of what he saw during his captivity.

"I felt an obligation to show people what went on there," he says.

Steele was released after three years of captivity when World War II ended. He returned to Billings, Montana, where he became an art professor at a state college.

"I had a lot of anger when I got home," Steele says. "We were beaten for so long. I hated [the Japanese]."

Steele meets his 'nemesis'

Steele's hatred smoldered for 15 years. It threatened to spill out into the open in 1960, when he walked into his classroom on the first day of the semester and saw a Japanese-American student.

In "Tears in the Darkness," Steele says that his "heart hardened and filled with hate." But he was so anguished by what he was feeling, he returned to his office after class to think.

He told himself that the war was over; he wasn't a prisoner anymore, and he had to treat the Japanese-American student like anybody else, because he was an American, too.

Then he did something else. He invited the student to his office for a talk.

The student's name was Harry Koyama, and he, too, had been marked by the war. His family had been imprisoned at a "relocation camp" in Arizona during the war.

Steele also discovered that he and Koyama had something else in common: a passion for drawing Montana's rural life. By the end of the semester, Koyama was one of Steele's best students.

Steele says that talking to Koyama helped his hatred evaporate.

"We had a discussion and finally came to an understanding that we liked each other," he says.

Today, Steele and Koyama remain in touch.

"We're the best of friends," Koyama tells CNN from his Montana art studio. "We see each other regularly."

Koyama says he can't remember exactly what he and Steele talked about first, only that Steele had always treated him well. Steele did tell him later that their relationship helped him recover from the war, he says.

"I was just there," Koyama says. "I just happened to be there for him to use my presence as a way to overcome his dark time."

Koyama says he is still amazed by Steele's survival story.

"Just to be a part of his life is an honor," Koyama says.

Steele's voice is still strong and his mind sharp. He's been married to his wife, Shirley, for 57 years, and they have three children and six grandchildren.

Steele says Bataan taught him to treasure small pleasures, like a drink of cool water and a warm bed at night.

"I'm thankful that I have a plateful of food," he says. "I can remember when that plate was empty."

He still remembers tiny details from the death march as well. He constantly draws pictures of his friends and tormentors on Bataan. Their faces fill his sketchbooks.

Steele's hate may be gone, but the death march lingers.

"I think about it every day," he says. "It's in my mind, and I'll never get it out."

Jani Schofield diagnosed with schizophrenia

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Sat, 11 Jul 2009 06:54:00 +0000

For Jani Schofield, some progress -- and major setbacks
The 6-year-old, who has been diagnosed with schizophrenia, doesn't fare well after a change in her environment, and the stress of caring for her takes a severe toll on her family.
By Shari Roan

4:56 PM PDT, July 8, 2009

On June 29, The Times profiled Jani Schofield, a 6-year-old diagnosed with schizophrenia, and her parents in “Jani’s at the mercy of her mind.” The article examined Jani's bouts of rage, her make-believe world, and Michael and Susan Schofield's efforts to keep their family together while also safely raising Jani and her toddler brother, Bodhi. Here is an update on the Schofield family.

Michael and Susan Schofield's plan to keep two apartments and trade 14-hour shifts caring for their 6-year-old daughter, Jani, worked for awhile.

And Jani returned, with modest success, to her elementary school.

But when school ended two weeks later, so did the Schofields' only real respite care, and their lives began to unravel.

The Schofields clashed with the team of workers from a nonprofit provider of mental health services the family was depending on for support. The social workers tried to help, says Michael, but didn't seem to understand that simple parenting techniques and behavioral therapies were irrelevant when caring for a psychotic child.

The cost of two apartments was crushing, and their money woes mounted. Michael and Susan began to argue more often.

When she was discharged June 1 from UCLA's Resnick Psychiatric Hospital, Jani had fewer hallucinations and was less violent. But within a week at home, she began spending more time in her imaginary world of rats and cats and searing temperatures.

Jani's psychiatrist raised her dose of Thorazine, one of three drugs she takes to control the psychosis, but it had little effect. Moreover, Thorazine causes severe photo-sensitivity so time spent at the park and swimming pool, where Jani is mostly easily entertained, had to be dramatically curtailed. She was soon bored with her tiny apartment.

The detailed daily schedule the Schofields crafted to mimic Jani's schedule at UCLA went by the wayside. The point system the couple planned to use to track Jani's behavior and reward her for progress was forgotten.

Both Michael and Susan battle depression and see a therapist. But Michael grew especially despondent.

After three weeks, the couple's hopes of caring for their daughter at home slipped away. Jani was psychotic most of the time, talking about her imaginary friends, gesturing to them, running to the door to allow them access to the apartment. She threatened her baby brother, Bodhi, sometimes kicking him. The toddler grew more anxious and clingy, and the Schofields began to worry about his psychological health and development.

On June 24, while the family was eating breakfast at Denny's, a drop of orange juice spilled on Jani's slacks, a sensation she cannot stand. She began to remove her pants in the restaurant but had not put on underwear that morning. The couple wrestled with her to keep her dressed while she erupted with fury over her wet clothing.

It took an hour to calm her.

The next day, she screamed at the doctor's office where she was undergoing regular lab tests to check for side effects from the high doses of medications. Later, she carried an imaginary rat in the palm of her hand and cautioned onlookers, "Be careful around him. He squirts."

Susan lost her set of keys and Michael yelled at her. Also that day, the family (other than Jani) was ill with a respiratory virus, and Bodhi was diagnosed with asthma.

On Thursday, June 25, Jani's blood test results came back. Her thyroid levels were abnormal and there was blood in her urine. She complained of constant itching.

Susan stayed home in Bodhi's apartment while Michael turned off the lights in Jani's apartment and drove her to UCLA.

January Schofield was re-admitted to UCLA's Resnick Neuropsychiatric Hospital later that day.

"It was really hard to take her back," Michael says. "It feels like a failure. We really wanted to make it work."

Jani's doctors at UCLA have decided to wean her off her current medications and try Clozaril, a last-ditch anti-psychotic that carries the risk of severe side effects. In the meantime, the Schofields are completing paperwork seeking to have Jani admitted to a study on child schizophrenia at the National Institute of Mental Health in Bethesda, Md.

Michael acknowledges that he and Susan need time to regain their mental and physical health before beginning the next round of Jani's life.

The day Jani was readmitted, says Michael, "I felt such a profound sense of despair. We can't get the services that we need to keep her at home. It breaks my heart that the only way we can get a break is to put her back in the hospital."

The staff at UCLA was kind when they saw their little patient again. She has made some progress, one of the nurses reminded Michael; she is less violent.

Jani remembered the staff well and didn't seem to mind going back to the hospital. But after Michael hugged her and said good-night that Thursday, she began to cry softly -- something she rarely does except in anger.

Michael detected a little sob and paused at the door.

"I called back to her, 'Jani, are you OK?' "

"Yes," she said.

Pedophiles, Hebephiles, and Ephebophiles, Oh My: Erotic Age Orientation Why most "pedophiles" aren't really pedophiles, technically speaking

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 23:39:00 +0000

By Jesse Bering
New Scientist: Mind

Michael Jackson probably wasn’t a pedophile—at least, not in the strict, biological sense of the word. It’s a morally loaded term, pedophile, that has become synonymous with the very basest of evils. (In fact it’s hard to even say it aloud without cringing, isn’t it?) But according to sex researchers, it’s also a grossly misused term.

If Jackson did fall outside the norm in his “erotic age orientation”—and we may never know if he did—he was almost certainly what’s called a hebephile, a newly proposed diagnostic classification in which people display a sexual preference for children at the cusp of puberty, between the ages of, roughly, 11 to 14 years of age. Pedophiles, in contrast, show a sexual preference for clearly prepubescent children. There are also ephebophiles (from ephebos, meaning “one arrived at puberty” in Greek), who are mostly attracted to 15- to 16-year-olds; teleiophiles (from teleios, meaning, “full grown” in Greek), who prefer those 17 years of age or older); and even the very rare gerontophile (from gerontos, meaning “old man” in Greek), someone whose sexual preference is for the elderly. So although child sex offenders are often lumped into the single classification of pedophilia, biologically speaking it’s a rather complicated affair. Some have even proposed an additional subcategory of pedophilia, “infantophilia,” to distinguish those individuals most intensely attracted to children below six years of age.

Based on this classification scheme of erotic age orientations, even the world’s best-known fictitious “pedophile,” Humbert Humbert from Nabokov’s masterpiece, Lolita, would more properly be considered a hebephile. (Likewise the protagonist from Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice, a work that I’ve always viewed as something of the “gay Lolita”). Consider Humbert’s telltale description of a “nymphet.” After a brief introduction to those “pale pubescent girls with matted eyelashes,” Humbert explains:

Between the age limits of nine and fourteen there occur maidens who, to certain bewitched travelers, twice or many times older than they, reveal their true nature which is not human, but nymphic (that is, demoniac); and these chosen creatures I propose to designate as “nymphets.”

Although Michael Jackson might have suffered more disgrace from his hebephilic orientation than most, and his name will probably forever be entangled darkly with the sinister phrase “little boys,” he wasn’t the first celebrity or famous figure that could be seen as falling into this hebephilic category. In fact, ironically, Michael Jackson’s first wife, Lisa Marie Presley, is the product of a hebephilic attraction. After all, let’s not forget that Priscilla caught Elvis’s very grownup eye when she was just fourteen, only a year or two older than the boys that Michael Jackson was accused of sexually molesting. Then there’s of course also the scandalous Jerry Lee Lewis incident in which the 23-year-old “Great Balls of Fire” singer married his 13-year-old first cousin.

In the psychiatric community, there’s recently been a hubbub of commotion concerning whether hebephelia should be designated as a medical disorder or, instead, seen simply as a normal variant of sexual orientation and not indicative of brain pathology. There are important policy implications of adding hebephilia to the checklist of mental illnesses, since doing so might allow people who sexually abuse pubescent children to invoke a mental illness defense.

One researcher who is arguing vociferously for the inclusion of hebephilia in the American Psychiatric Association's revised diagnostic manual (the DSM-V) is University of Toronto psychologist Ray Blanchard. In last month’s issue of Archives of Sexual Behavior, Blanchard and his colleagues provide new evidence that many people diagnosed under the traditional label of pedophilia are in fact not as interested in prepubescent children as they are early adolescents.

To tease apart these erotic age orientation differences, Blanchard and his colleagues studied 881 men (straight and gay) in his laboratory using phallometric testing (also known as penile plethysmography) while showing them visual images of differently aged nude models. Because this technique measures penile blood volume changes, it’s seen as being a fairly objective index of sexual arousal to what’s being shown on the screen—which, for those attracted to children and young adolescents, the participant might verbally deny being attracted to. In other words, the penis isn’t a very good liar. So, for example, in Blanchard’s study, the image of a naked 12-year-old girl (nothing prurient, but rather resembling a subject in a medical textbook) was accompanied by the following audiotaped narrative:

“You are watching a late movie on TV with your neighbors’ 12-year-old daughter. You have your arm around her shoulders, and your fingers brush against her chest. You realize that her breasts have begun to develop…”

Blanchard and his coauthors found that the men in their sample fell into somewhat discrete categories of erotic age orientation—some had the strongest penile response to the prepubescent children (the pedophiles), others to the pubescent children (the hebephiles), and the remainder to the adults shown on screen (the teleiophiles). These categories weren’t mutually exclusive. For example, some teleiophiles showed some arousal to pubescent children, some hebephiles showed some attraction to prepubescent children, and so on. But the authors did find that it’s possible to distinguish empirically between a “true pedophile” and a hebephile using this technique, in terms of the age ranges for which men exhibited their strongest arousal. They also conclude that, based on the findings from this study, hebephilia “is relatively common compared with other forms of erotic interest in children.”

In the second half of their article, Blanchard and his colleagues argue that hebephilia should be added to the newly revised DSM-V as a genuine paraphilic mental disorder—differentiating it from pedophilia. But many of his colleagues working in this area are strongly opposed to doing this.

Men who find themselves primarily attracted to young or middle-aged adolescents are clearly disadvantaged in today’s society, but historically (and evolutionarily) this almost certainly wasn’t the case. In fact, hebephiles—or at least ephebephiles—would have had a leg up over their competition. Evolutionary psychologists have found repeatedly that markers of youth correlate highly with perceptions of beauty and attractiveness. For straight men, this makes sense, since a woman’s reproductive value declines steadily after the age of about twenty. Obviously having sex with a prepubescent child would be fruitless—literally. But, whether we like it or not, this isn’t so for a teenage girl who has just come of age, who is reproductively viable and whose brand-new state of fertility can more or less ensure paternity for the male. These evolved motives were portrayed in the film Pretty Baby, in which a young Brooke Shields plays the role of twelve-old-old Violet Neil, a prostitute’s daughter in 1917’s New Orleans whose coveted virginity goes up for auction to the highest bidder.

Understanding adult gay men’s attraction to young males is more of a puzzle. Evolutionary psychologist Frank Muscarella’s “alliance formation theory” is the only one that I’m aware of that attempts to do this. This theory holds that homoerotic behavior between older, high status men and teenage boys serves as a way for the latter to move up in ranks, a sort of power-for-sex bargaining chip. The most obvious example of this type of homosexual dynamic was found in ancient Greece, but male relationships in a handful of New Guinea tribes display these homoerotic patterns as well. There are also, ahem, plenty of present-day examples of this in Congress. Oscar Wilde probably would have signed on to this theoretical perspective. After all, his famous “love that dare not speak its name” wasn’t homosexuality, per se, but rather a “great affection of an elder for a younger man”:

...as there was between David and Jonathan, such as Plato made the very basis of his philosophy, and such as you find in the sonnets of Michelangelo and Shakespeare. It is that deep, spiritual affection that is as pure as it is perfect. It dictates and pervades great works of art like those of Shakespeare and Michelangelo… It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an elder and a younger man, when the elder man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope and glamour of life before him. That it should be so, the world does not understand. The world mocks at it and sometimes puts one in the pillory for it.

But, generally speaking, Muscarella’s theory doesn’t seem to pull a lot of weight. Not many teenage boys in any culture seem terribly interested in taking this particular route to success. Rather—and I may be wrong about this—but I think most teenage boys would prefer to scrub toilets for the rest of their lives or sell soft bagels at the mall than become the sexual plaything of an “older gentlemen.”

In any event, given the biological (even adaptive) verities of being attracted to adolescents, most experts in this area find it completely illogical for Blanchard to recommend adding hebephilia to the revised DSM-V. (Especially since other more clearly maladaptive paraphilias—such as gerontophilia, in which men are attracted primarily to elderly, post-menopausal women—are not presently included in the diagnostic manual.) The push to pathologize hebephilia, argues forensic psychologist Karen Franklin, appears to be motivated more by “a booming cottage industry” in forensic psychology, not coincidentally linked with a “punitive era of moral panic." Because “civil incapacitation” (basically, the government’s ability to strip a person of his or her civil rights in the interests of public safety) requires that the person be suffering from a diagnosable mental disorder or abnormality, Franklin calls Blanchard’s proposal “a textbook example of subjective values masquerading as science.” Another critic, forensic psychologist Gregory DeClue, suggests that such medical classifications are being based on arbitrary distinctions dictated by cultural standards:

Pedophilia is a mental disorder. Homosexuality is not. Should hebephilia of ephebophilia or gerontophilia be considered mental disorders? How about sexual preference for people with different (or with the same) ethnic characteristics as oneself?

And Marquette University psychologist Thomas Zander, points out that since chronological age doesn’t always perfectly match physical age, including these subtle shades of erotic age preferences would be problematic from a diagnostic perspective:

Imagine how much more impractical it would be to require forensic evaluators to determine the existence of pedophilia based on the stage of adolescence of the examinee’s victim. Such determinations could literally devolve into a splitting of pubic hairs.

One unexplored question, and one inseparable from the case of Michael Jackson, is whether we tend to be more forgiving of a person’s sexual peccadilloes when that individual has some invaluable or culturally irreplaceable abilities. For example, consider the following true story:

There once was a man who fancied young boys. Being that laws were more lax in other nations, this man decided to travel to a foreign country, leaving his wife and young daughter behind, where he met up with another Westerner who shared in his predilections for pederasty, and there the two of them spent their happy vacation scouring the seedy underground of this country searching for pimps and renting out boys for sex.

Now if you’re like most people, you’re probably experiencing a shiver of disgust and a spark of rage. You likely feel these men should have their testicles drawn and quartered by wild mares, be thrown to a burly group of rapists, castrated with garden sheers or, if you’re the pragmatic sort, treated as any other sick animal in the herd would be treated, with a humane bullet to the temple or perhaps a swift and sure current of potassium chloride injected into the arm.

But notice the subtle change in your perceptions when I tell you that these events are from the autobiography of André Gide, who in 1947—long after he’d publicized these very details—won the Nobel prize in literature. Gide is in fact bowdlerizing his time in Algiers with none other than Oscar Wilde.

Wilde took a key out of his pocket and showed me into a tiny apartment of two rooms… The youths followed him, each of them wrapped in a burnous that hid his face. Then the guide left us and Wilde sent me into the further room with little Mohammed and shut himself up in the other with the [other boy]. Every time since then that I have sought after pleasure, it is the memory of that night I have pursued.

It’s not that we think it’s perfectly fine for Gide and Wilde to have sex with minors or even that they shouldn’t have been punished for such behaviors. (In fact Wilde was sentenced in London to two years hard labor for related offenses not long after this Maghreb excursion with Gide and died in penniless ignominy.) But somehow, as with our commingled feelings for Michael Jackson, “the greatest entertainer of all time,” the fact that these men were national treasures somehow dilutes our moralistic anger, as though we’re more willing to suffer their vices given the remarkable literary gifts they bestowed.

Would you really have wanted Oscar Wilde euthanized as though he were a sick animal? Should André Gide, whom the New York Times hailed in their obituary as a man “judged the greatest French writer of this century by the literary cognoscenti,” have been deprived of his pen, torn to pieces by illiterate thugs? It’s complicated. And although in principle we know that all men are equal in the eyes of the law, just as we did for Michael Jackson during his child molestation trials, I have a hunch that many people tend to feel (and uncomfortably so) a little sympathy for the Devil under such circumstances.

In this column presented by Scientific American Mind magazine, research psychologist Jesse Bering of Queen's University Belfast ponders some of the more obscure aspects of everyday human behavior. Ever wonder why yawning is contagious, why we point with our index fingers instead of our thumbs or whether being breastfed as an infant influences your sexual preferences as an adult? Get a closer look at the latest data as “Bering in Mind” tackles these and other quirky questions about human nature.

Mind over Matter!

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 20:51:00 +0000

Disorderly genius: How chaos drives the brain

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 18:58:00 +0000

HAVE you ever experienced that eerie feeling of a thought popping into your head as if from nowhere, with no clue as to why you had that particular idea at that particular time? You may think that such fleeting thoughts, however random they seem, must be the product of predictable and rational processes. After all, the brain cannot be random, can it? Surely it processes information using ordered, logical operations, like a powerful computer?

Actually, no. In reality, your brain operates on the edge of chaos. Though much of the time it runs in an orderly and stable way, every now and again it suddenly and unpredictably lurches into a blizzard of noise.

Neuroscientists have long suspected as much. Only recently, however, have they come up with proof that brains work this way. Now they are trying to work out why. Some believe that near-chaotic states may be crucial to memory, and could explain why some people are smarter than others.

In technical terms, systems on the edge of chaos are said to be in a state of "self-organised criticality". These systems are right on the boundary between stable, orderly behaviour - such as a swinging pendulum - and the unpredictable world of chaos, as exemplified by turbulence.

The quintessential example of self-organised criticality is a growing sand pile. As grains build up, the pile grows in a predictable way until, suddenly and without warning, it hits a critical point and collapses. These "sand avalanches" occur spontaneously and are almost impossible to predict, so the system is said to be both critical and self-organising. Earthquakes, avalanches and wildfires are also thought to behave like this, with periods of stability followed by catastrophic periods of instability that rearrange the system into a new, temporarily stable state.

Self-organised criticality has another defining feature: even though individual sand avalanches are impossible to predict, their overall distribution is regular. The avalanches are "scale invariant", which means that avalanches of all possible sizes occur. They also follow a "power law" distribution, which means bigger avalanches happen less often than smaller avalanches, according to a strict mathematical ratio. Earthquakes offer the best real-world example. Quakes of magnitude 5.0 on the Richter scale happen 10 times as often as quakes of magnitude 6.0, and 100 times as often as quakes of magnitude 7.0.

These are purely physical systems, but the brain has much in common with them. Networks of brain cells alternate between periods of calm and periods of instability - "avalanches" of electrical activity that cascade through the neurons. Like real avalanches, exactly how these cascades occur and the resulting state of the brain are unpredictable.

It might seem precarious to have a brain that plunges randomly into periods of instability, but the disorder is actually essential to the brain's ability to transmit information and solve problems. "Lying at the critical point allows the brain to rapidly adapt to new circumstances," says Andreas Meyer-Lindenberg from the Central Institute of Mental Health in Mannheim, Germany.
Disorder is essential to the brain's ability to transmit information and solve problems

The idea that the brain might be fundamentally disordered in some way first emerged in the late 1980s, when physicists working on chaos theory - then a relatively new branch of science - suggested it might help explain how the brain works.

The focus at that time was something called deterministic chaos, in which a small perturbation can lead to a huge change in the system - the famous "butterfly effect". That would make the brain unpredictable but not actually random, because the butterfly effect is a phenomenon of physical laws that do not depend on chance. Researchers built elaborate computational models to test the idea, but unfortunately they did not behave like real brains. "Although the results were beautiful and elegant, models based on deterministic chaos just didn't seem applicable when looking at the human brain," says Karl Friston, a neuroscientist at University College London.

In the 1990s, it emerged that the brain generates random noise, and hence cannot be described by deterministic chaos. When neuroscientists incorporated this randomness into their models, they found that it created systems on the border between order and disorder - self-organised criticality.

More recently, experiments have confirmed that these models accurately describe what real brain tissue does. They build on the observation that when a single neuron fires, it can trigger its neighbours to fire too, causing a cascade or avalanche of activity that can propagate across small networks of brain cells. This results in alternating periods of quiescence and activity - remarkably like the build-up and collapse of a sand pile.
Neural avalanches

In 2003, John Beggs of Indiana University in Bloomington began investigating spontaneous electrical activity in thin slices of rat brain tissue. He found that these neural avalanches are scale invariant and that their size obeys a power law. Importantly, the ratio of large to small avalanches fit the predictions of the computational models that had first suggested that the brain might be in a state of self-organised criticality (The Journal of Neuroscience, vol 23, p 11167).

To investigate further, Beggs's team measured how many other neurons a single cell in a slice of rat brain activates, on average, when it fires. They followed this line of enquiry because another property of self-organised criticality is that each event, on average, triggers only one other. In forest fires, for example, each burning tree sets alight one other tree on average - that's why fires keep going, but also why whole forests don't catch fire all at once.

Sure enough, the team found that each neuron triggered on average only one other. A value much greater than one would lead to a chaotic system, because any small perturbations in the electrical activity would soon be amplified, as in the butterfly effect. "It would be the equivalent of an epileptic seizure," says Beggs. If the value was much lower than one, on the other hand, the avalanche would soon die out.

Beggs's work provides good evidence that self-organised criticality is important on the level of small networks of neurons. But what about on a larger scale? More recently, it has become clear that brain activity also shows signs of self-organised criticality on a larger scale.

As it processes information, the brain often synchronises large groups of neurons to fire at the same frequency, a process called "phase-locking". Like broadcasting different radio stations at different frequencies, this allows different "task forces" of neurons to communicate among themselves without interference from others.

The brain also constantly reorganises its task forces, so the stable periods of phase-locking are interspersed with unstable periods in which the neurons fire out of sync in a blizzard of activity. This, again, is reminiscent of a sand pile. Could it be another example of self-organised criticality in the brain?

In 2006, Meyer-Lindenberg and his team made the first stab at answering that question. They used brain scans to map the connections between regions of the human brain and discovered that they form a "small-world network" - exactly the right architecture to support self-organised criticality.

Small-world networks lie somewhere between regular networks, where each node is connected to its nearest neighbours, and random networks, which have no regular structure but many long-distance connections between nodes at opposite sides of the network (see diagram). Small-world networks take the most useful aspects of both systems. In places, the nodes have many connections with their neighbours, but the network also contains random and often long links between nodes that are very far away from one another.

For the brain, it's the perfect compromise. One of the characteristics of small-world networks is that you can communicate to any other part of the network through just a few nodes - the "six degrees of separation" reputed to link any two people in the world. In the brain, the number is 13.

Meyer-Lindenberg created a computer simulation of a small-world network with 13 degrees of separation. Each node was represented by an electrical oscillator that approximated a neuron's activity. The results confirmed that the brain has just the right architecture for its activity to sit on the tipping point between order and disorder, although the team didn't measure neural activity itself (Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, vol 103, p 19518).

That clinching evidence arrived earlier this year, when Ed Bullmore of the University of Cambridge and his team used brain scanners to record neural activity in 19 human volunteers. They looked at the entire range of brainwave frequencies, from 0.05 hertz all the way up to 125 hertz, across 200 different regions of the brain.
Power laws again

The team found that the duration both of phase-locking and unstable resynchronisation periods followed a power-law distribution. Crucially, this was true at all frequencies, which means the phenomenon is scale invariant - the other key criterion for self-organised criticality.

What's more, when the team tried to reproduce the activity they saw in the volunteers' brains in computer models, they found that they could only do so if the models were in a state of self-organised criticality (PLoS Computational Biology, vol 5, p e1000314). "The models only showed similar patterns of synchronisation to the brain when they were in the critical state," says Bullmore.

The work of Bullmore's team is compelling evidence that self-organised criticality is an essential property of brain activity, says neuroscientist David Liley at Swinburne University of Technology in Melbourne, Australia, who has worked on computational models of chaos in the brain.

But why should that be? Perhaps because self-organised criticality is the perfect starting point for many of the brain's functions.

The neuronal avalanches that Beggs investigated, for example, are perfect for transmitting information across the brain. If the brain was in a more stable state, these avalanches would die out before the message had been transmitted. If it was chaotic, each avalanche could swamp the brain.

At the critical point, however, you get maximum transmission with minimum risk of descending into chaos. "One of the advantages of self-organised criticality is that the avalanches can propagate over many links," says Beggs. "You can have very long chains that won't blow up on you."

Self-organised criticality also appears to allow the brain to adapt to new situations, by quickly rearranging which neurons are synchronised to a particular frequency. "The closer we get to the boundary of instability, the more quickly a particular stimulus will send the brain into a new state," says Liley.

It may also play a role in memory. Beggs's team noticed that certain chains of neurons would fire repeatedly in avalanches, sometimes over several hours (The Journal of Neuroscience, vol 24, p 5216). Because an entire chain can be triggered by the firing of one neuron, these chains could be the stuff of memory, argues Beggs: memories may come to mind unexpectedly because a neuron fires randomly or could be triggered unpredictably by a neuronal avalanche.

The balance between phase-locking and instability within the brain has also been linked to intelligence - at least, to IQ. Last year, Robert Thatcher from the University of South Florida in Tampa made EEG measurements of 17 children, aged between 5 and 17 years, who also performed an IQ test.
The balance between stability and instability in the brain has been linked with intelligence, at least as measured by scores on an IQ test

He found that the length of time the children's brains spent in both the stable phase-locked states and the unstable phase-shifting states correlated with their IQ scores. For example, phase shifts typically last 55 milliseconds, but an additional 1 millisecond seemed to add as many as 20 points to the child's IQ. A shorter time in the stable phase-locked state also corresponded with greater intelligence - with a difference of 1 millisecond adding 4.6 IQ points to a child's score (NeuroImage, vol 42, p 1639).

Thatcher says this is because a longer phase shift allows the brain to recruit many more neurons for the problem at hand. "It's like casting a net and capturing as many neurons as possible at any one time," he says. The result is a greater overall processing power that contributes to higher intelligence.

Hovering on the edge of chaos provides brains with their amazing capacity to process information and rapidly adapt to our ever-changing environment, but what happens if we stray either side of the boundary? The most obvious assumption would be that all of us are a short step away from mental illness. Meyer-Lindenberg suggests that schizophrenia may be caused by parts of the brain straying away from the critical point. However, for now that is purely speculative.

Thatcher, meanwhile, has found that certain regions in the brains of people with autism spend less time than average in the unstable, phase-shifting states. These abnormalities reduce the capacity to process information and, suggestively, are found only in the regions associated with social behaviour. "These regions have shifted from chaos to more stable activity," he says. The work might also help us understand epilepsy better: in an epileptic fit, the brain has a tendency to suddenly fire synchronously, and deviation from the critical point could explain this.

"They say it's a fine line between genius and madness," says Liley. "Maybe we're finally beginning to understand the wisdom of this statement."

David Robson is a junior editor at New Scientist

Much Touted “Depression Risk Gene” May Not Add to Risk After All

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 16:48:00 +0000

June 16, 2009

New Look at Data Confirms Strong Association between Depression and Stressful Life Events
computer generated image of DNA

Stressful life events are strongly associated with a person's risk for major depression, but a certain gene variation long thought to increase risk in conjunction with stressful life events actually may have no effect, according to researchers funded by the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH), part of the National Institutes of Health. The study, published in the June 17, 2009, issue of the Journal of the American Medical Association, challenges a widely accepted approach to studying risk factors for depression.

"Rigorous re-evaluations of published studies provide the checks and balances necessary for scientific progress," said Thomas R. Insel, M.D., director of NIMH. "We are still in the early days of understanding how genes and environment interact to increase the risk for depression."

Most mental disorders are thought to be caused by a combination of many genetic risk factors interacting with environmental triggers. However, finding the exact combinations continues to present significant challenges to research.

Advances in scientific understanding and technologies during the past decade have led to powerful tools for studying how genetic and environmental factors can affect a person's risk for disease. Such advances allowed mental health researchers in 2003 to show that a gene involved in serotonin activity increased the risk of major depression in people who had a number of stressful life events over a five-year period (see "More About the Science" below for more information about this gene and serotonin). Coming at a time of heightened research interest in these gene-environment interactions and the relative lack of progress in the field for mental disorders, this study received wide acclaim and had a far-reaching influence. Not only have considerable resources been invested in subsequent studies that built on this finding, but also some researchers have proposed marketing the gene test to the public, claiming to be able to predict a person's risk for depression.

However, efforts to replicate the 2003 study's findings—a key step in scientific progress that helps show whether a particular finding was a chance event—have had inconsistent results.

To examine whether the 2003 study's finding had been confirmed, a group of scientists from NIMH and six universities with expertise in epidemiology, biostatistics, genetics, and psychiatry reviewed the status of relevant replication studies. Led by Kathleen Merikangas, Ph.D., of the NIMH Intramural Research Program, the workgroup did a meta-analysis, re-analyzing data on 14,250 participants in 14 studies published from 2003 through March 2009. Of these, the researchers also re-analyzed original data, including unpublished information, on 10,943 participants from 10 studies published before 2008. The workgroup analyzed these original data to see whether there were gender differences in the associations between the serotonin genotype, stressful life events, and depression.

By applying the same definitions of study variables and data analysis methods used in the 2003 study, the workgroup found a strong association between the number of stressful life events and risk of depression across the studies. However, the presumed high-risk version of the serotonin transporter gene did not show a relationship to increased risk for major depression, alone or in interaction with stressful life events, in the analysis of the 14 studies. Their findings were the same in men and women alone in the analysis of original data from 10 studies.

The workgroup noted that their analysis had some limitations. Individual level data were available for only 10 of the 14 studies published before 2008. However, these limitations would have had little effect on the overall findings because the number of participants in the studies not included was only a small proportion of the total sample.

These findings may account for the difficulty many researchers have faced in attempting to replicate the 2003 study. This analysis confirms some earlier reviews that had also questioned the validity of the gene's effect on depression risk. However, the workgroup emphasized that the intent of its analysis was not to deter research on gene-environment interactions for mental disorders.

"Identifying gene-environment interactions is most successful when studies can focus on a single gene with a major effect, or when the environmental exposure has a strong effect," said lead author Neil Risch, Ph.D., University of California, San Francisco and Kaiser Permanente Northern California. "In the case of modest gene effects or environmental impacts, the statistical power to detect an interaction will be low, and thus weak positive results should be interpreted carefully."

The authors concluded that incorporating environmental exposures in candidate gene studies (those that study a particular gene) may be as likely to yield false positive findings as the candidate gene studies themselves. Therefore, the results of other studies using the same approach as the 2003 study also deserve thorough review and meta-analysis.

"Even though our re-analysis did not confirm an association between the serotonin gene and depression, the finding that the environmental factor was strongly associated with depression in several studies reminds us that environmental factors are also involved in the complex pathways leading to mental disorders," noted Merikangas. "Future progress will require thoughtful integration of the tools of genetics, epidemiology, and clinical and behavioral sciences."

The authors on the paper include Neil Risch, Ph.D., University of California at San Francisco and Kaiser Permanente Northern California; Richard Herrell, Ph.D., NIMH; Thomas Lehner, Ph.D., NIMH; Kung-Yee Liang, Ph.D., Johns Hopkins University; Lindon Eaves, Ph.D., Virginia Commonwealth University; Josephine Hoh, Ph.D., Yale University; Andrea Griem, NIMH; Maria Kovacs, Ph.D., University of Pittsburgh; Jurg Ott, Ph.D., Rockefeller University; Kathleen Ries Merikangas, Ph.D., NIMH.
More About the Science

Serotonin is one of several chemical messengers in the brain, or neurotransmitters, which help brain cells communicate with one another. Among many other functions, serotonin is involved in regulating mood. Problems with making or using the right amount of serotonin have been linked to many mental disorders, including depression, bipolar disorder, anxiety disorder, autism, and schizophrenia.

There are many genes that code for serotonin. Some of these genes guide serotonin production and other are involved in its activity. The serotonin transporter gene makes a protein that directs serotonin from the space between brain cells-where most neurotransmitters are relayed from one cell to another-back into cells, where it can be reused. Since the most widely prescribed class of medications for treating major depression acts by blocking this transporter protein, the gene has been a prime suspect in mood and anxiety disorders.

The serotonin transporter gene has many versions. Since everyone inherits a copy of this gene from each parent, a person may have two copies of the same version or one copy each of two different versions. One version of the serotonin transporter gene makes less protein, resulting in decreased transport of serotonin back into cells. This version has also long been the focus of depression research due to its suggested effect on risk.

Read more about NIMH research on depression and genetic risk factors
Reference

Risch N, Herrell R, Lehner T, Liang KY, Eaves L, Hoh J, Griem A, Kovacs M, Ott J, Merikangas KR. Interaction between the Serotonin Transporter Gene, Stressful Life Events and Risk of Depression: A Meta-Analysis. JAMA. 2009 Jun 17;301(23):2462-71.

Car Exhaust Associated With Premature Births in Southern California

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 21:37:00 +0000

Mothers living near freeways and congested roads are more likely to give birth to premature babies and suffer from preeclampsia

By Marla Cone and Environmental Health News

Women exposed to air pollution from freeways and congested roads are much more likely to give birth to premature babies and suffer from preeclampsia, according to a study by University of California scientists published Wednesday.

The findings, based on pregnant women in the Long Beach/Orange County region of Southern California, add to the growing evidence that car and truck exhaust can jeopardize the health of babies while they are in the womb.

Reviewing the birth records of more than 81,000 infants, researchers found that the risk of having a baby born before 30 weeks of gestation increased 128 percent for women who live near the worst traffic-generated air pollution.

In addition, preeclampsia increased 42 percent for women who lived in those areas, according to the study, published online in the scientific journal Environmental Health Perspectives. Preclampsia, a serious illness that involves high blood pressure, can endanger the baby and the mother.

The team of scientists from UCLA and University of California, Irvine studied babies born in Long Beach, near the Ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach, and in adjacent Orange County. Those areas are traversed by several major freeways used by commuters as well as heavy-duty trucks delivering goods to and from the ports.

The infants’ birth records were matched with their addresses and then compared with traffic patterns and estimates of two pollutants—particulates and nitrogen oxides—from vehicles near the mothers’ homes.

The study was unique in that the researchers constructed a database estimating what the pregnant women breathed in their own neighborhoods--within three kilometers, or less than two miles, of their homes. Previous studies have used general air pollution measurements, which is a less accurate estimate of what people are exposed to.

Only traffic-generated emissions were included in the study, not pollutants from factories and other sources.

Fetuses “are in a very sensitive stage of development” that could be vulnerable to the toxic substances inhaled by their mothers, said Jun Wu, an assistant professor of epidemiology at UC Irvine and the study’s lead author.

Other recent studies have linked air pollutants to preterm births and low birth weights. But until now, “no study has associated air pollution with preeclampsia. This is the first one,” Wu said.

Tracey Woodruff, director of University of California, San Francisco’s Program on Reproductive Health and the Environment, said the research offers a relatively “new twist on air pollution,” since most scientists have focused on respiratory and cardiovascular diseases.

“This is just one more piece of the scientific evidence that air pollution can have effects on adverse pregnancy outcomes,” said Woodruff, who was not involved in the research.

The babies in the study were born between 1997 and 2006 at four hospitals: Long Beach Memorial and three in Orange County--Anaheim Memorial, Orange Coast Memorial in Fountain Valley and Saddleback Memorial in Laguna Hills.

Maria Gugerty, a Long Beach resident, said she always has wondered what might have caused her son, Will, to be born premature, at 31 weeks. Her son was likely one of the preemies reviewed in the study since he was born at Long Beach Memorial in 1997.

“My pregnancy was completely fine, but all of a sudden my water broke. It seemed completely random and the doctors were never able to determine any physical reason for it,” she said. “I was so careful during my pregnancy. No alcohol, no smoking and a good diet. So I’ve always wondered if it was something in the environment, not necessarily air pollution but the environment in general.”

Another Long Beach mother, Susan Taylor, said her doctor thought a gum infection most likely was the cause of her daughter, Maddy, being born early, also at 31 weeks. But, she said, “we did live near a very busy, noisy intersection.”

Like most women, Gugerty and Taylor didn't know there was a connection between air pollution and pregnancies. But Gugerty said that she “absolutely” worries about the potential health effects of the pollution around her home in Long Beach. Her son, now 12, has asthma.

About half of the babies included in the study were born in Long Beach. Air pollution experts have said that people living in that area faced a variety of increased health risks, including cancer and reduced lung function, due to heavy traffic and other sources of air pollution related to the ports and freeways.

Every year, more than half a million infants are born prematurely in the United States. In the study, 8 percent of the 81,186 babies were preterm, including 1 percent that were “very preterm,” or under 30 weeks of gestation.

The link to air pollution was strongest for the “very preterm” babies, who often weigh less than three pounds and have the greatest risk of serious health problems. The researchers compared women who lived in areas with the most traffic-related pollution with women who lived in areas with the least traffic pollution. Those in the polluted areas were 128 percent more likely to deliver “very preterm” babies.

The risk of less severe preterm babies—those born between 30 and 37 weeks--was about 30 percent higher for women living in the areas with a lot of traffic emissions.

About 3 percent of the study’s pregnant women had preeclampsia, which can result in premature babies. Its causes are unknown, although doctors think it is related to abnormal growth of the placenta.

The new study focused on “an important area of research, since there are a lot of reasons to believe that there is something happening with environmental chemicals and preeclampsia,” Woodruff said. “Women with preeclampsia have high blood pressure, and some air pollutants can increase blood pressure. This is a serious condition, and these women are at risk of adverse pregnancy outcomes.”

Scientists are uncertain how air pollutants might trigger premature babies. The chemicals may interfere with placental development, which would impair the nutrients and oxygen delivered to the fetus. Or they could trigger oxidative stress—when cells are overwhelmed and DNA is damaged by reactive compounds in the environment called free radicals.

Wu said it is likely that other pollutants are to blame, not the fine particles and nitrogen oxides. Instead, those two pollutants could be an indicator of other toxic compounds in vehicle exhaust, such as polycyclic aromatic compounds. A recent study of babies in New York City linked those compounds, called PAHs, to preterm and low-weight babies.

Wu said doctors should warn pregnant women about air pollution because “they should be aware of these issues.” While most can’t move to avoid traffic emissions, Wu said they might be able to take precautions, such as reducing their commutes or closing their windows in cars and homes.

But avoiding air pollution is virtually impossible, Woodruff said, so “pregnant women should be aware of the risks and advocate for the kinds of [government] actions that reduce overall exposure to air pollution.”

The authors said a major limitation of their research is that it only looked at where the women lived when their babies were born, not where they lived or worked during their pregnancies, or whether they had long commutes in heavily polluted areas. Still, they said by using neighborhood data, they were probably more accurate in estimating the women’s exposures than past researchers have been.

Beate Ritz, an epidemiology professor at UCLA’s School of Public Health, was the study’s senior author. Her research has focused on using geographic information to map people’s exposure to pollutants and chemicals and search for links to chronic diseases such as Parkinson's and cancer.

Woodruff said many researchers are starting to use such data, which only has been available in recent years, because it can provide “reasonable estimates of what people are exposed to.”

Plug and Play

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Sat, 13 Jun 2009 17:40:00 +0000

Plug and Play: Researchers Expand Clinical Study of Neural Interface Brain Implant
BrainGate moves to phase II testing as scientists search for a way to return life to paralyzed limbs

By Larry Greenemeier

Having proved in 2004 that plugging a sensor into the human brain's motor cortex could turn the thoughts of paralysis victims into action, a team of Brown University scientists now has the green light from the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and the Massachusetts General Hospital (MGH) institutional review board to expand its efforts developing technology that reconnects the brain to lifeless limbs.

Brown's BrainGate Neural Interface System—conceived in 2000 with the help of a $4.25-million U.S. Defense Department grant—includes a baby aspirin–size brain sensor containing 100 electrodes, each thinner than a human hair, that connects to the surface of the motor cortex (the part of the brain that enables voluntary movement), registers electrical signals from nearby neurons, and transmits them through gold wires to a set of computers, processors and monitors. (ScientificAmerican.com in 2006 wrote about one patient's experience using BrainGate during its first phase of trials.)

The researchers designed BrainGate to assist those suffering from spinal cord injuries, muscular dystrophy, brain stem stroke, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS, or Lou Gehrig's Disease), and other motor neuron diseases. During the initial testing five years ago, patients suffering from paralysis demonstrated their ability to use brain signals sent from their motor cortex to control external devices such as computer screen cursors and robotic arms just by thinking about them. "The signals may have been disconnected from the (participant's) limb, but they were still there," says Leigh Hochberg, a Brown associate professor of engineering and a vascular and critical care neurologist at MGH who is helping lead the research.

Due to the high risk of plugging a device directly into the brain, the FDA in 2004 granted the BrainGate system an investigational device exemption so that researchers could begin testing the unit in patients and collect data about its safety and effectiveness. Thanks to the success of those early tests, the researchers last week kicked off a pilot clinical trial, dubbed BrainGate2. Although the technology is similar to what was used in the original testing, the researchers are looking to enlist up to 15 patients this time and gather more information that will help them better understand brain signals as well as "the method by which we decode them," Hochberg says. Since the initial four-person clinical trial launched five years ago, "we have a better appreciation for things that we need to learn."

A successful BrainGate2 trial could open up a number of new possibilities, including the use of a second sensor to stimulate both sides of the motor cortex, says John Donoghue, a Brown neuroscience professor and director of the Brown Institute for Brain Science. Researchers thus far have implanted the sensor in the side of the brain that controls a patient's dominant side—the left cortex for righties and the right cortex for lefties.

BrainGate2 is part of a larger mission to help paralysis victims regain control of their bodies. "We want to reconnect the brain back to the muscles and eventually back to the entire limb," Donoghue says. "We are attempting to recreate parts of the nervous system that have been disconnected from the brain."

Hochberg expects this second phase to last for several years, "depending on what we learn and how quickly we learn it." The research project has received about $8 million in funding over the past three years from a number of organizations, including the National Institutes of Health (NIH) and the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.

D-Day

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 21:06:00 +0000

June 6, 1944, 160,000 Allied troops landed along a 50-mile stretch of heavily-fortified French coastline to fight Nazi Germany on the beaches of Normandy, France. General Dwight D. Eisenhower called the operation a crusade in which “we will accept nothing less than full victory.” More than 5,000 Ships and 13,000 aircraft supported the D-Day invasion, and by day’s end on June 6, the Allies gained a foot- hold in Normandy. The D-Day cost was high -more than 9,000 Allied Soldiers were killed or wounded -- but more than 100,000 Soldiers began the march across Europe to defeat Hitler.

00:00:00 Erik M. Juleen - During those five days leading up to the invasion, why... we were mostly all prepared at that time -- there wasn't much to do except that, and um, we were ready to move out to a bidwack area. We were in this area and it was unbelievable. For myself it was the anxiety, the thing we were waiting for for a long time.

00:00:31 Joseph Dragotto - Over the loudspeaker, I heard the words "Attention!" I with the other troops, snapped to attention and in the corner of my eye, I could see two men -- one wearing an American uniform, the other a British uniform. The American was General Eisenhower and the other was Field Marshall Montgomery. General Eisen said that we were about to embark on a great cause -- the liberation of Europe. God be with you. Montgomery said almost the same thing but added that he was grateful for the help and supplies and troops from America.

00:01:10 Harlod Baumgarten - We left the martianry area with full battle equipment -- about 100 pounds per man. The harbor of Weymuth was crowded with ships of every size, shape and description, most of them flying the stars and stripes. On the evening of June 5th the harbor came alive. I could see one ship signaling to the other that this was it. We would hit the beach the next morning at 6:30 AM, June 6th 1944, to be called "D-Day".

00:01:43 Dragotto - Around 00, 01 hours June the 6th I heard the roar of the aircraft. I got up and looked out into the sky and I noticed airplanes and gliders behind them -- 101st 82nd Airborne were being flown to be dropped out of the plane.

00:02:04 Juleen - I guess the morning -- early, early morning -- of June 6 why everything starts moving. Then we went up to our boat foreman, and we assembled with hundreds and hundreds of ships -- I had never seen anything like it in my life. And then I guess we were on our way.

00:02:23 Baumgarten - Chaplain Kelly held the mass service on the deck of the Anvil in which he requested God to see us through the landing safely. We left the Anvil on British LCA, and huge bluish black waves rose high over the sides of our little craft, and battered the boat as well as us with unimaginable fury. It was as if the waves were trying to crush our soft boat and we in it. We were all soaking wet. I tried to keep my rifle dry but, I put my plastic cover over the rifle.

00:03:11 Adolph "Bud" Warnecke - We were so loaded down with equipment -- every man had at least one anti-tank mine, and we had bundles in the doors, bundles under the aircraft, and the C-47 was loaded to the point where he could take off but he couldn't land with it so he had to drop it. We had rendezvoused for quite a while to get the air Amanda into a formation. When we crossed the English Channel, I was standin' in the door. We looked down, we looked out, looked down, and there was the most beautiful moonlight evening. Looked down and had never seen so many ships in all my life and probably will never see 'em again. You coulda walked across the English Channel -- not that you had to walk on water -- you could just step from ship to ship -- that is how it looked from the air.

00:04:20 Juleen - Its so hard to describe... it was massive, it was massive -- I can imagine being a German lookin' out through a binoculars and seeing all of this (laughing) no wonder Hitler didn't believe us.

00:04:35 Baumgarten - The fury of the water broke our front ramp and the boat began to fill with icy channel water, but Lt. Donelson rammed his body against the unit door of the ship and said "Well what are you waiting for? Take off your helmets and start bailing the water out."

00:04:54 Dragotto - As the landing craft inched closer to the beach shells began to explode around us. The craft next to us hit a mine and exploded.

00:05:06 Juleen - But as we were about to land they had huge obstacles in the water. Big railroad tracks cris-crossed and stickin' up out of the water so nobody could get close.

00:05:22 Warnecke - Well there was a ground fog, we were supposed to be flying at about 600 feet -- that was gonna be our jump altitude. We couldn't see any landmarks, we couldn't see where we were, where we were going or anything, but the order was before we left, that no one would come back in the aircraft whether we found our objective or DZs or not -- we would go out somewhere over Normandy. Just as soon as I bailed out, I knew that was the end of it. I was not coming back anymore because I had never seen so many tracers in all my life. Tracers were all over the place and shooting at us. I'd hardly got the thoughts out of my mind when I went through an apple tree. My feet just barely touched the ground, the top of my canopy had caught my fall and I just hung there real nice -- no problem. Took my knife, cut myself out of my harness, and immediately started to gather the people together that jumped from our aircraft.

00:06:40 Baumgarten - I saw the beach, with a huge seawall, at the foot of a massive 150 foot bluff. An 88 millimeter shell landed right in the middle of the LCA on the side of us, and splinters of the boat, equipment and bodies were thrown into the air. The ramp was lowered and the unit door was opened and a German machine gun trained on the opening and took a heavy toll of lives. I waded through the waist-deep water watching many of my buddies fall alongside of me. I expected a bullet to rip through me at any moment, from the right. I reached the stone wall. I looked down and being washed around by the incoming water. I saw the bodies of my buddies who had tried in vain to clear the beach.

00:07:33 Dragotto - When we hit the beach, I knelt down and kissed the dirt, whispered "Thank you God." I then looked around and saw many dead in the water and on the beach. My company was being held up by machine gun fire from the hill then Col. Peynold regimental commander said "If we have to die, let's die on the hill." We moved on and took the hill, and given the Allies a foothold in France.

After 65 years, hero talks about D-Day assault

noreply@blogger.com (Vince S.) — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 19:42:00 +0000

After 65 years, hero talks about D-Day assault

By Susan Lisovicz
CNN Correspondent

CNN's Susan Lisovicz sat down with her uncle Lenny Lisovicz, a decorated D-Day veteran, to talk about his experiences at war.

HOUSTON, Texas (CNN) -- Decorated D-Day veteran Lenny Lisovicz says the whispers are true.

For 65 years my family had heard whispers that he and 220 men stormed Omaha Beach and that he and his captain later went AWOL in Paris, France.

They heard he returned to combat and fought all the way to Germany and his courage was rewarded with the prestigious Silver Star.

Then -- after that sacrifice and loss -- he was committed to a hospital.

On the 65th anniversary of D-Day, Uncle Lenny finally talked at length about everything he had seen and done. And he said it was all true.

Nowadays, Uncle Lenny lives a tranquil life. At 91, he is proud of his garden, where he grows corn, tomatoes and grapefruit. He takes in stray cats, attends Mass and sends money regularly to Catholic missionaries.

But his thoughts are never far away from a sliver of sand thousands of miles away. He turned down my offer to visit Normandy.

"I don't want to see it. I try to rub that out of my mind. It won't go away," he said.

But now, he finally agreed to share his memories. VideoWatch Uncle Lenny describe storming the beach »

It began with The Longest Day: June 6, 1944. My uncle was a 26-year-old lieutenant with the Army 1st Infantry Division, the famed "Big Red One." They had been training in England for something big for months.

Then, over the loudspeakers in the barracks came the famous declaration from Gen. Dwight Eisenhower: "You are about to embark on the Great Crusade."

The Germans were taken by surprise in one of the greatest amphibious invasions of all time, which would mark a turning point of the war in Europe.

"I just imagined what that enemy observer felt when he looked through that concrete bunker and looked out at that ocean and all he could see was boats, warships," Lisovicz said.

But the Nazis had a superior position.

"They had you pinpointed. It was just like shootin' ducks on a pond. Your comrades would get artillery busted. A hand flying here, a leg there, guts laying out on the ground, asking for help and you couldn't help them. You had to move. You just had to push them aside," he recalled.

But the Allies couldn't push their way onto the cliffs until a massive air assault began.

"At times there were so many planes in the sky you couldn't see the sky... ," Lisovicz said. "You could see them forming from all directions coming into one pattern. And that's how we got off the beach, darlin'."

Their orders were to meet up with the paratroopers, who landed behind enemy lines. My uncle said they found them by smell, because they were all dead.

"They backed them in a corner and machine gunned them down and didn't have enough decency to cover them," he said.

That was when an unwritten order came down: "No prisoners. And we didn't take any."

It was shortly after this that he decided he had enough. He and the captain went AWOL in Paris. To add insult to injury, they stole the major's jeep. Their freedom lasted only about a week.

"The MP told us he was going to shoot us for going AWOL. But who cares? You didn't care anymore," Lisovicz said. "You were just fed up with war, fed up with killing, just absolutely fed up."

But they weren't shot -- not by Americans, anyway.

My uncle and the captain went back into combat. The captain was killed by a camouflaged tank. My uncle was now the commanding officer. And the fighting was ferocious as he battled his way into Germany.

He set trip wires for flares in one pivotal battle. At about 3 a.m., the flares went off. The Germans had overrun the outer defenses of the platoon. It was chaos.

The Silver Star says that he "skillfully deployed men and weapons into strategic positions and with accurately directed fire, held the foe at bay until supporting troops arrived and repulsed the attack."

But there was more.

"When I looked up I seen a man walking up with two of my comrades. It was a German. So I went after him. And got him and brought my men back," he said.

The Silver Star described it as "extraordinary gallantry and aggressive leadership."

Only 22 of the 220 men that stormed the beach with him came home alive.

That was the last time my uncle saw combat. He had been hit. He learned about his Silver Star in the hospital.

He wanted to return, but he was shell-shocked.

"It took them a year and a half of my life for them to straighten me out and get back to civilian life," he said.