A few years ago, AUBG tried to outsource its loss-making dining services. The company selected to take them over thought the best way to win the hearts and minds of the student body, faculty, and administration was to place several large TV sets along the walls of the canteen. Several months later the university needed to take back control of the struggling operation. The TV sets, however, remained as a legacy of the short-lived experiments in Zeitgeist chasing. They haunted the AUBG population, or at least me, for a few years until dining services were moved to a shining new building. Each time I went to the canteen to have a meal, I found it extremely difficult to keep my eyes off the nearest screen. Even if I was talking to someone, my eyes kept darting back to the moving images.
As I glanced at the screens, I was reminded of a scene from the movie Limitless. In it, the main protagonist, a struggling writer, starts taking an illegal drug which tremendously increases his brain power. Naturally, he decides to use his newly acquired supernatural ability to strike it rich on the stock market.1 His performance is predictably impressive, so he is hired by Warren Buffett’s evil twin to assist in the execution of a giant corporate merger. At some point, though, the effects of the drug begin to wear off, and the newly hatched capitalist shark’s mind and eyes start to drift. His boss immediately notices his waning concentration and snaps derisively: “Oh, don’t tell me you are one of those guys who are easily lost when there is a TV screen in their vision field.”
Unlike me, the writer-turned-analyst had a good excuse—his attention was caught by coverage of a grisly murder he could have committed without being aware of it. But the truth is, you do need superhuman powers of concentration and inhibition if you are to resist the pull of a bright TV screen. There is a fairly straightforward physiological explanation for this phenomenon—which once made television into the paradigmatic centerpiece of modern living.
Our attention is easily attracted by any novel stimulus or moving object. These activate instantly an automatic “orienting response” in the brain. The eyes latch onto anything that intrudes into, or moves within, our visual field since any such object may be a potential source of food or mortal danger, or a possible mate, friend, or enemy. This reflex prepares the organism to deal with potential opportunities or hazards.2 It, or anticipation of related stimuli, activates the amygdala.
The intensity of this activation provides an instant, automatic emotional “tagging” of sensory signals or events which may have high survival value for the organism. As the example with the almost irresistible TV screen suggests, however, such a response can sometimes be misleading. The activation of the amygdala, and the related release of dopamine in the brain, can be triggered by empty but powerful stimuli—for example, loud noises and bright flares that are merely startling.3
Television is a prime example of this tendency. We can be easily mesmerized by its bright, flickering images for several hours every day—an “activity” which does not exactly enhance our chances for survival or procreation.4 How can we, then, resist the pull of such “chewing gum for the eyes”? To achieve this feat, we must be able to inhibit the automatic “orienting response” triggered by ever larger and brighter TV screens, and redirect our attention to more important stimuli and pursuits.5
This activation, monitoring, and redirection of attention depends on a delicate balance between emotional arousal and inhibition in the brain and the whole organism. Some neuroscientists place at the core of this balance the interaction of two neural networks I have already touched upon. One of them, which they refer to as the brain’s “impulsive system,” is built around the amygdala. The other one, called the “reflective system,” is centered on the prefrontal cortex and thus largely overlaps with the “executive brain” described earlier.6 The orienting response activates the impulsive system, which immediately directs one’s attention to potential threats or “rewards.” The reflective system, on the other hand, monitors this activation and generates a more complex assessment of the importance of the stimuli or events which have turned it on. This assessment eventually leads us to either persist in paying attention or switch attention to a more worthwhile object.
This is roughly how things should work ideally, but they often do not. The balance between the impulsive and reflective systems in the brain can easily be disrupted. The activation of the impulsive system functions according to a rough winner-take-all principle. This means that stronger signals tend to drown out weaker ones. For example, a loud MTV-style video clip can easily distract us from observing the blossoms of a plant next to the TV screen; or the attraction of a piece of chocolate cake can make a slice of cucumber seem unappealing. Also, the anticipation of stronger sensations can cancel the attraction of more feeble ones.
The more powerful signals, or the keen anticipation of associated stimuli, can thus become the triggers for the release of dopamine which heightens arousal in the brain and body. Under normal circumstances, the reflective system in the brain serves to place such powerful excitation into perspective and keep it within healthy limits. But if the underlying dopamine-induced “high” is particularly strong, signals generated by the prefrontal cortex may be too weak to achieve this vital task. As a result, the dopamine system can be hijacked by large doses of intense but pointless stimulation.7
The dangers of such potential neural dysregulation were first demonstrated by experiments with lab rats conducted almost half a century ago. The hapless animals were taught to press a lever in order to self-administer stimulant drugs or deliver electrical signals to electrodes implanted in the dopaminergic centers in their brains. In addition to the rush induced by the resulting dopamine squirts in their brains, such stimulation also induces the secretion of endorphins, the brain’s own opiates which can make the dopamine-induced excitation feel pleasurable. Once the animals entered that euphoric state, they typically kept pressing the lever to the point of full exhaustion and even death. As they engaged in an apparent orgy of self-stimulation, they disregarded easily available food, drink, and even mating partners.
Of course, humans who find themselves in similar situations should know better. The prefrontal cortex in the human brain is much larger and functions at a whole different level. It is thus capable of sending stronger signals intended to curb potentially unhealthy impulses. But even in humans the top-down signals coming from the prefrontal cortex can be overwhelmed by the powerful rush and excitement triggered by higher concentrations of dopamine.
Humans do not normally have electrodes implanted in their brains which can deliver appropriately targeted impulses to their dopaminergic circuits. But they can resort to other forms of self-stimulation, for example by taking powerful drugs. As in lab animals, the strong dopamine response provoked by these can incapacitate the brain’s reflective system. As this happens, the impulsive system takes over, and the reflective system is effectively shut down. As a result, receiving another dose of the drug turns into an obsession. This fixation is reinforced by other chemicals released in the body.
Drugs can thus become an object of intense desire and craving. The end result is an obsession that outweighs the motivation to pursue any other goals.8 As a consequence, drug addicts typically experience an erosion of willpower. They come to be driven by strong “nonplanning” and “cognitive impulsivity.” They tend to pursue immediate sensations, and to jump to conclusions in the absence of clear clues. Any object or place associated with drug use can trigger an intense craving, sometimes years after overcoming the related addiction.9
Over the longer term, such addiction to stimulant drugs rests on a particularly intractable vicious circle. The brain is gradually habituated to the chemical effects of drugs. The secretion of dopamine in the dopamine system is decreased and neurons in other brain areas lose some of their dopamine and opiate receptors. As a consequence, they become less sensitive to the effects of that substance. The intense sensations a drug induces then tend to fade. The only way to restore sensations to their previous intensity is to take larger doses of the drug. Chronically elevated dopamine levels resulting from such substance abuse can cause neurons in the prefrontal cortex to wither and even die as a result of oxidative stress—a process which reduces the power of the “executive brain” to function properly.10
Such neural modifications contribute to a self-defeating spiral familiar to heavy drug users. Beyond a certain point, even much higher doses can no longer provide quite the same sensation. As this happens, the responsiveness of addicts to non-drug-related stimuli is dampened as well. Their daily existence is robbed of almost any other pleasure or excitement which could be provided, for example, by a walk in the park or a pleasant conversation. As a result, the lives of addicts feel a lot duller. At the root of this unfortunate tendency is a physiological malfunction—the endorphins released in the brain and body in response to potentially pleasurable experiences find fewer available receptors to dock to. This progressive numbing of the senses, erosion of willpower, loss of a larger perspective on life, and the resulting desperation can lead addicts to a downward spiral of self-defeating sensation-seeking and sometimes untimely death.11
As the similar effects of electrical self-stimulation and stimulant drugs illustrate, any kind of strong neural activation which triggers a dopamine rush and related cravings can disrupt the delicate balance between the impulsive and reflective systems in the brain. Such progressive neural dysregulation predictably leads to heightened impulsivity and to decreased motivation to delay gratification and resist all sorts of unhealthy temptations. Brain-imaging experiments have demonstrated that the balance between the impulsive and reflective systems in the brain can be similarly disrupted by highly palatable food, sex, pornographic images, money, and other powerful stimuli.
The processing of money in the brain is particularly indicative, since money offers a much more abstract “reward” than any chemical substance or directly pleasurable sensation. As some curious experiments have demonstrated, not just viewing or counting, but merely thinking of money can trigger strong affective signals in the amygdala and the release of dopamine in the midbrain. As with drugs, the brain can become habituated to the ensuing rush associated with the anticipation of high monetary rewards. Individuals can thus become stuck in pursuing ever larger and more elusive monetary payouts. In the process, they tend to become less sensitive to many other pleasures in life.12
These effects are particularly acute in compulsive gamblers. As the highly perceptive self-described gambling addict I mentioned earlier confesses, big wins and losses at casinos would initially trigger in him powerful excitement or desperation.13 These reactions were all too natural, since unpredictable rewards produce the most intense dopamine rush. But gradually the sensations grew fainter. As sums on the order of 14,000 dollars drifted in or out of his hands during gambling all-nighters, he no longer felt thrilled or shocked. After years of gambling, he came to a point when he felt nothing. Worse, he did not have a clear sense as to what he should be feeling under such circumstances. Despite that stupor, he kept traveling to distant casinos and spending endless nights gambling, while his ostensible girlfriend was waiting patiently for him in their hotel room.
This apparent affinity between compulsive, often reckless gambling and recognized addictions has long been noted. For this reason, “Gambling Disorder” is the only recognized “behavioral addiction” included in the new edition of the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM-5).14 “Internet Gaming Disorder” is also listed there, though only as a “condition for further study.” But once such concessions are made, other problematic behaviors must sooner or later follow since there is no conceptual reason for keeping them out.15 As already noted, internet addiction (including online gaming) has already been recognized as a mental disorder in China, South Korea, and other countries.16
In fact, the similar effects drugs, food, sex, pornography, gaming, gambling, and other compulsive behaviors can have on the brain (and, by extension, on the body) raise an interesting proposition. It seems that the brain uses a common neural “currency” to assess various potential rewards, threats, and gratifications.17 As the abstract nature of astronomical monetary rewards demonstrate,18 the objects or stimuli whose value is estimated in this neural currency do not need to be tangible. They can be akin to the thrill or excitement provided by any strong sensation—like the ones generated by an “epic win” in a video game, daring stunts in extreme sports, shopping sprees, the acquisition of new piercings or tattoos, and other similarly exhilarating experiences.
Among these activities, there is one which has acquired an increasingly central place—seeking out and processing novel information. As already noted, dedicated circuits in the brain can be activated by strong sensory stimuli which do not point to potential rewards beyond the dopamine rush they trigger. As a result, the motivation system can be hijacked even by stimuli which carry little meaning or significance. This danger has been well captured by journalist Emily Yoffe who refers to Panksepp’s contribution to the study of the effects of dopamine on the brain. She observes a disheartening resemblance between human and rodent self-stimulation. In her words, “while we tap, tap away at our search engines, it appears we are stimulating the same system in our brains” which those lab rats sought to tickle with abandon.19
In recognition of this affinity, the excessive, often compulsive seeking and accessing of information from the internet has been dubbed “infomania,” a form of dependence which can be “worse than marijuana.”20 The tendency to stay online for hours every day surfing, communicating, and cultivating an attractive “e-personality” has in itself been identified as an addiction.21 Increasingly, such virtual connectedness is becoming the water in which we all swim. It has even crowded out many older forms of self-indulgence in our, and our children’s, lives.
Playing ostensibly pro-social games like The Sims or FarmVille (or “stupid” ones like Angry Birds22), posting innocent comments and photos on Facebook or Instagram, browsing non-pornographic material online, or switching between multiple apps may seem far removed from the highly addictive experiences described above. Yet they are driven by similar impulses and have similar effects on the brain, and particularly on the prefrontal cortex.23 According to Nora Volkow, the flamboyant director of the National Institute for Drug Abuse in the United States, there is no substantial difference between substance abuse and the various “behavioral addictions” increasingly coming under scrutiny.24 At rock bottom, they are all driven by a chemical craving at the cellular level, though compulsive behaviors may not exactly meet the strict criteria required for designating them as clinical disorders.25
Still, many lay observers and commentators remain unconvinced that labeling a widespread behavior like “excessive” internet or gadget use as a disorder can be helpful. Virginia Heffernan again provides a symptomatic example. In her capacity as a “social media” critic, she was not particularly bothered by the confessions of a self-described internet addict.26 The young woman acknowledged she had a tendency to lose herself clicking from one hyperlink to the next, sometimes going to bed in the early hours of the morning. Yet, she appeared to Heffernan as merely “a bright, self-effacing, religious young woman who keeps student hours and prefers logic games, jokes, graphic novels, trivia quizzes, music, Victoriana and socializing on Facebook to prefab pop bands.”27 Heffernan would probably be unfazed by the apparently obsessive behaviors depicted in documentaries like Douglas Rushkoff’s Generation Text, Anderson Cooper’s #Being13, or Delaney Ruston’s Screenagers.
Heffernan’s predictably blasé attitude is supported by some addiction researchers and neuroscientists. They point out that seemingly problematic behaviors like sex or information seeking are natural, and do not trigger the release of nearly as much dopamine as the consumption of powerful drugs.28 But the effects of even apparently innocuous stimuli on the brain can be much more sustained as compared to some drugs. Such potentially problematic behaviors may come to occupy most of the waking hours of affected individuals. This cannot but have lasting effects on brain wiring and patterns of overall emotional arousal.
In the case of information seeking and consumption, those effects were first demonstrated in a 2007 brain imaging study by neuroscientist Gary Small.29 He wanted to compare the patterns of neural activation in experienced internet users and in complete novices who—incredibly—had never surfed the web. Quite surprisingly, Small found that all it took to induce observable changes in the novices’ patterns of brain activation was several hours of internet browsing. Their brains had started to fire in ways similar to those of experienced users.
Other researchers have similarly confirmed that excessive online gaming induces changes in cortical areas and in deeper brain structures. These modifications may be adaptive in the world of online gaming and other areas requiring rapid response and precise hand-eye coordination.30 But they can also create problems related to impulse control and sustained attention to weaker stimuli. Such problems are likely to be even more acute in the case of ostensibly pro-social internet games, which have gained popularity courtesy of ubiquitous internet-connected devices, and the “social media” centered on user-generated content and regular peer-to-peer “sharing” and communication. Such compulsively pursued activities seem to offer an addictive combination of adventure, socializing, info-grazing, and other “micro-rewards” which can induce neural modifications similar to those observed in the brains of drug addicts.31
As in the case of monetary rewards, an “infomanic” lifestyle can have an additional and more insidious effect—a partial desensitization to non-electronic stimuli. If we spend countless hours seeking instant feedback from screens of various sizes, our nervous system will be partly habituated to the dopamine rush induced by such sensory and emotional overstimulation. As a result, we will need an ever more intense and prolonged exposure to the novel or constantly refreshed images and sensations generated by virtual immersion. We will seek to experience the previous excitement, but will get no lasting satisfaction.
Fortunately, few among us will succumb completely to the influence of such virtual thrill seeking or die of an overdose like those hapless lab rats or gamers in Eastern Asia. But as a result of chronic exposure to electronically generated or mediated feedback, the non-virtual, allegedly “real” world may, indeed, lose much of its urgency and relevance.32 Non-electronic sources of information may begin to pale and seem unexciting compared to virtual reality and interaction. In fact, cultural critic Thomas de Zengotita thought this shift in perception and comprehension had already become the new normal (in the United States at least) at the time of the 9/11 attacks.33
Such a shift will most obviously affect the fate of the written page. As Carr and other internet skeptics have noted, habitual online info-grazing may lead us to a point where potentially interesting and important texts fail to provoke the intense and sustained engagement associated with “deep reading.”34 By making us less sensitive to all sorts of stimuli and experiences, submersion in the “apptwinstagoocebook” universe may even turn us a bit more obtuse and indifferent in general–making us blasé about these very effects of our “infomanic” existence.