EMOTIONAL	INTELLIGENCE
A	Bantam	Book
PUBLISHING	HISTORY
Bantam	hardcover	edition	published	October	1995
Bantam	trade	paperback	edition	published	July	1997
Bantam	10th	anniversary	trade	paperback	edition	published	October	2005
Bantam	10th	anniversary	hardcover	edition	/	October	2006
Published	by
Bantam	Dell
A	Division	of	Random	House,	Inc.
New	York,	New	York
Illustration	of	brain	on
this	page
	is	adapted	from	“Emotional	Memory	and	the	Brain”	by
Joseph	E.	LeDoux.
Copyright	©	1994	by	Scientific	American,	Inc.
All	rights	reserved.
Artist:	Roberto	Osti
All	rights	reserved.
Copyright	©	1995	by	Daniel	Goleman
Introduction	copyright	©	2005	by	Daniel	Goleman
Library	of	Congress	Catalog	Card	Number:	95-16685
Bantam	Books	and	the	rooster	colophon	are	registered	trademarks	of	Random	House,	Inc.
eISBN:	978-0-553-90320-1
www.bantamdell.com
v3.1_r2


Contents
Cover
Title	Page
Copyright
Introduction
Aristotle’s	Challenge
PART	ONE
THE	EMOTIONAL	BRAIN
		1.	What	Are	Emotions	For?
		2.	Anatomy	of	an	Emotional	Hijacking

PART	TWO
THE	NATURE	OF	EMOTIONAL	INTELLIGENCE
		3.	When	Smart	Is	Dumb
		4.	Know	Thyself
		5.	Passion’s	Slaves
		6.	The	Master	Aptitude
		7.	The	Roots	of	Empathy
		8.	The	Social	Arts
PART	THREE
EMOTIONAL	INTELLIGENCE	APPLIED
		9.	Intimate	Enemies
10.	Managing	with	Heart
11.	Mind	and	Medicine


PART	FOUR
WINDOWS	OF	OPPORTUNITY
12.	The	Family	Crucible
13.	Trauma	and	Emotional	Relearning
14.	Temperament	Is	Not	Destiny
PART	FIVE
EMOTIONAL	LITERACY
15.	The	Cost	of	Emotional	Illiteracy
16.	Schooling	the	Emotions
Appendix	A:	What	Is	Emotion?
Appendix	B:	Hallmarks	of	the	Emotional	Mind
Appendix	C:	The	Neural	Circuitry	of	Fear
Appendix	D:	W.	T.	Grant	Consortium:	Active	Ingredients	of	Prevention	Programs
Appendix	E:	The	Self	Science	Curriculum
Appendix	F:	Social	and	Emotional	Learning:	Results
Resources
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Notes
Other	Books	by	This	Author
About	the	Author


Introduction
OceanofPDF.com
Tenth	Anniversary	Edition	of
Emotional	Intelligence
In	1990,	in	my	role	as	a	science	reporter	at
The	New	York	Times
,	I
chanced	upon	an	article	in	a	small	academic	journal	by	two
psychologists,	John	Mayer,	now	at	the	University	of	New	Hampshire,
and	Yale’s	Peter	Salovey.	Mayer	and	Salovey	offered	the	first
formulation	of	a	concept	they	called	“emotional	intelligence.”
Those	were	days	when	the	preeminence	of	IQ	as	the	standard	of
excellence	in	life	was	unquestioned;	a	debate	raged	over	whether	it
was	set	in	our	genes	or	due	to	experience.	But	here,	suddenly,	was	a
new	way	of	thinking	about	the	ingredients	of	life	success.	I	was
electrified	by	the	notion,	which	I	made	the	title	of	this	book	in	1995.
Like	Mayer	and	Salovey,	I	used	the	phrase	to	synthesize	a	broad	range
of	scientific	findings,	drawing	together	what	had	been	separate
strands	of	research—reviewing	not	only	their	theory	but	a	wide
variety	of	other	exciting	scientific	developments,	such	as	the	first
fruits	of	the	nascent	field	of	affective	neuroscience,	which	explores
how	emotions	are	regulated	in	the	brain.
I	remember	having	the	thought,	just	before	this	book	was	published


I	remember	having	the	thought,	just	before	this	book	was	published
ten	years	ago,	that	if	one	day	I	overheard	a	conversation	in	which	two
strangers	used	the	phrase
emotional	intelligence
	and	both	understood
what	it	meant,	I	would	have	succeeded	in	spreading	the	concept	more
widely	into	the	culture.	Little	did	I	know.
The	phrase
emotional	intelligence
,	or	its	casual	shorthand
EQ
,	has
become	ubiquitous,	showing	up	in	settings	as	unlikely	as	the	cartoon
strips
Dilbert
	and
Zippy	the	Pinhead
	and	in	Roz	Chast’s	sequential	art	in
The	New	Yorker
.	I’ve	seen	boxes	of	toys	that	claim	to	boost	a	child’s
EQ;	lovelorn
personal	ads	sometimes	trumpet	it	in	those	seeking
prospective	mates.	I	once	found	a	quip	about	EQ	printed	on	a
shampoo	bottle	in	my	hotel	room.
And	the	concept	has	spread	to	the	far	corners	of	our	planet.
EQ
	has
become	a	word	recognized,	I’m	told,	in	languages	as	diverse	as


German	and	Portuguese,	Chinese,	Korean,	and	Malay.	(Even	so,	I
prefer
EI
	as	the	English	abbreviation	for
emotional	intelligence.
)	My	e-
mail	inbox	often	contains	queries	from,	for	example,	a	doctoral
student	in	Bulgaria,	a	schoolteacher	in	Poland,	a	college	student	in
Indonesia,	a	business	consultant	in	South	Africa,	a	management	expert
in	the	Sultanate	of	Oman,	an	executive	in	Shanghai.	Business	students
in	India	read	about	EI	and	leadership;	a	CEO	in	Argentina
recommends	the	book	I	later	wrote	on	that	topic.	I’ve	also	heard	from
religious	scholars	within	Christianity,	Judaism,	Islam,	Hinduism,	and
Buddhism	that	the	concept	of	EI	resonates	with	outlooks	in	their	own
faith.
Most	gratifying	for	me	has	been	how	ardently	the	concept	has	been
embraced	by	educators,	in	the	form	of	programs	in	“social	and
emotional	learning,”	or	SEL.	Back	in	1995	I	was	able	to	find	only	a
handful	of	such	programs	teaching	emotional	intelligence	skills	to
children.	Now,	a	decade	later,	tens	of	thousands	of	schools	worldwide
offer	children	SEL.	In	the	United	States	many	districts	and	even	entire
states	currently	make	SEL	a	curriculum	requirement,	mandating	that
just	as	students	must	attain	a	certain	level	of	competence	in	math	and


language,	so	too	should	they	master	these	essential	skills	for	living.
In	Illinois,	for	instance,	specific	learning	standards	in	SEL	abilities
have	been	established	for	every	grade	from	kindergarten	through	the
last	year	of	high	school.	To	give	just	one	example	of	a	remarkably
detailed	and	comprehensive	curriculum,	in	the	early	elementary	years
students	should	learn	to	recognize	and	accurately	label	their	emotions
and	how	they	lead	them	to	act.	By	the	late	elementary	years	lessons	in
empathy	should	make	children	able	to	identify	the	nonverbal	clues	to
how	someone	else	feels;	in	junior	high	they	should	be	able	to	analyze
what	creates	stress	for	them	or	what	motivates	their	best	performance.
And	in	high	school	the	SEL	skills	include	listening	and	talking	in	ways
that	resolve	conflicts	instead	of	escalating	them,	and	negotiating	for
win-win	solutions.
Around	the	world	Singapore	has	undertaken	an	active	initiative	in
SEL,	as	have	some	schools	in	Malaysia,	Hong	Kong,	Japan,	and	Korea.
In	Europe	the	U.K.	has	led	the	way,	but	more	than	a	dozen	other
countries
have	schools	that	embrace	EI,	as	do	Australia	and	New
Zealand,	and	here	and	there	countries	in	Latin	America	and	Africa.	In
2002	UNESCO	began	a	worldwide	initiative	to	promote	SEL,	sending


a	statement	of	ten	basic	principles	for	implementing	SEL	to	the


ministries	of	education	in	140	countries.
In	some	states	and	nations	SEL	has	become	the	organizing	umbrella
under	which	are	gathered	programs	in	character	education,	violence
prevention,	antibullying,	drug	prevention,	and	school	discipline.	The
goal	is	not	just	to	reduce	these	problems	among	schoolchildren	but	to
enhance	the	school	climate	and,	ultimately,	students’	academic
performance.
In	1995	I	outlined	the	preliminary	evidence	suggesting	that	SEL	was
the	active	ingredient	in	programs	that	enhance	children’s	learning
while	preventing	problems	such	as	violence.	Now	the	case	can	be
made	scientifically:	helping	children	improve	their	self-awareness	and
confidence,	manage	their	disturbing	emotions	and	impulses,	and
increase	their	empathy	pays	off	not	just	in	improved	behavior	but	in
measurable	academic	achievement.
This	is	the	big	news	contained	in	a	recently	completed	meta-
analysis	of	668	evaluation	studies	of	SEL	programs	for	children	from
preschoolers	through	high	school.
1
	The	massive	survey	was	conducted
by	Roger	Weissberg,	who	directs	the	Collaborative	for	Academic,
Social	and	Emotional	Learning	at	the	University	of	Illinois	at	Chicago
—the	organization	that	has	led	the	way	in	bringing	SEL	into	schools
worldwide.
The	data	show	that	SEL	programs	yielded	a	strong	benefit	in


The	data	show	that	SEL	programs	yielded	a	strong	benefit	in
academic	accomplishment,	as	demonstrated	in	achievement	test
results	and	grade-point	averages.	In	participating	schools,	up	to	50
percent	of	children	showed	improved	achievement	scores,	and	up	to
38	percent	improved	their	grade-point	averages.	SEL	programs	also
made	schools	safer:	incidents	of	misbehavior	dropped	by	an	average
of	28	percent;	suspensions	by	44	percent;	and	other	disciplinary
actions	by	27	percent.	At	the	same	time,	attendance	rates	rose,	while
63	percent	of	students	demonstrated	significantly	more	positive
behavior.	In	the	world	of	social	science	research,	these	are	remarkable
results	for	any	program	promoting	behavioral	change.	SEL	has
delivered	on	its	promise.
In	1995	I	also	proposed	that	a	good	part	of	the	effectiveness	of	SEL
came	from	its	impact	in	shaping	children’s	developing	neural
circuitry,	particularly	the	executive	functions	of	the	prefrontal	cortex,
which	manage	working	memory—what	we	hold	in	mind	as	we	learn
—and	inhibit	disruptive	emotional	impulses.	Now	the	first	preliminary
scientific	evidence	for	that	notion	has	arrived.	Mark	Greenberg	of
Pennsylvania	State	University,
a	codeveloper	of	the	PATHS	curriculum


in	SEL,	reports	not	only	that	this	program	for	elementary	school
students	boosts	academic	achievement	but,	even	more	significantly,
that	much	of	the	increased	learning	can	be	attributed	to
improvements	in	attention	and	working	memory,	key	functions	of	the
prefrontal	cortex.
2
	This	strongly	suggests	that	neuroplasticity,	the
shaping	of	the	brain	through	repeated	experiences,	plays	a	key	role	in
the	benefits	from	SEL.
Perhaps	the	biggest	surprise	for	me	has	been	the	impact	of	EI	in	the
world	of	business,	particularly	in	the	areas	of	leadership	and
employee	development	(a	form	of	adult	education).	The
Harvard
Business	Review
	has	hailed	emotional	intelligence	as	“a	ground-
breaking,	paradigm-shattering	idea,”	one	of	the	most	influential
business	ideas	of	the	decade.
Such	claims	in	the	business	world	too	often	prove	to	be	fads,	with
no	real	underlying	substance.	But	here	a	far-flung	network	of
researchers	has	been	at	work,	ensuring	that	the	application	of	EI	will
be	grounded	in	solid	data.	The	Rutgers	University-based	Consortium
for	Research	on	Emotional	Intelligence	in	Organizations	(CREIO)	has
led	the	way	in	catalyzing	this	scientific	work,	collaborating	with
organizations	that	range	from	the	Office	of	Personnel	Management	in
the	federal	government	to	American	Express.


the	federal	government	to	American	Express.
Today	companies	worldwide	routinely	look	through	the	lens	of	EI	in
hiring,	promoting,	and	developing	their	employees.	For	instance,
Johnson	&	Johnson	(another	CREIO	member)	found	that	in	divisions
around	the	world,	those	identified	at	midcareer	as	having	high
leadership	potential	were	far	stronger	in	EI	competencies	than	were
their	less-promising	peers.	CREIO	continues	to	foster	such	research,
which	can	offer	evidence-based	guidelines	for	organizations	seeking	to
enhance	their	ability	to	achieve	their	business	goals	or	fulfill	a
mission.
When	Salovey	and	Mayer	published	their	seminal	article	in	1990,	no
one	could	have	envisioned	how	the	scholarly	field	they	founded
would	be	thriving	just	fifteen	years	later.	Research	has	blossomed	in
this	area;	while	in	1995	there	was	virtually	nothing	in	the	scientific
literature	on	EI,	today	the	field	has	legions	of	researchers.	A	search	of
the	database	for	doctoral	dissertations	investigating	aspects	of
emotional	intelligence	yields	more	than	seven	hundred	completed	to
date,	with	many	more	in	the	pipeline—not	to	mention	studies	done	by


professors	and	others	not	counted	in	that	database.
3
The	growth	of	this	area	of	scholarship	owes	much	to	Mayer	and
Salovey,	who,	along	with	their	colleague	David	Caruso,	a	business
consultant,	have	worked	tirelessly	on	behalf	of	the	scientific
acceptance	of	emotional	intelligence.	By	formulating	a	scientifically
defensible	theory	of	emotional	intelligence	and	providing	a	rigorous
measure	of	this	capacity	for	effective	living,	they	have	set	an
impeccable	research	standard	for	the	field.
Another	major	source	of	the	burgeoning	academic	findings	about	EI
has	been	Reuven	Bar-On,	now	at	the	University	of	Texas	Medical
Branch	in	Houston,	whose	own	theory	of	EI—and	high-energy
enthusiasm—have	inspired	many	studies	using	a	measure	he	devised.
Bar-On	has	also	been	instrumental	in	developing	and	editing	academic
books	that	have	helped	give	the	field	a	critical	mass,	including
The
Handbook	of	Emotional	Intelligence
.
The	growing	EI	field	of	study	has	met	some	entrenched	opposition
within	the	insular	world	of	scholars	of	intelligence,	particularly	those
who	embrace	IQ	as	the	sole	acceptable	measure	of	human	aptitudes.
Nevertheless,	the	field	has	emerged	as	a	vibrant	paradigm.	Any
important	theoretical	model,	observed	the	philosopher	of	science
Thomas	Kuhn,	should	become	progressively	revised	and	refined	as


Thomas	Kuhn,	should	become	progressively	revised	and	refined	as
more	stringent	tests	of	its	premises	are	made.	That	process	seems	well
under	way	for	EI.
There	are	by	now	three	main	models	of	EI,	with	dozens	of
variations.	Each	represents	a	different	perspective.	That	of	Salovey
and	Mayer	rests	firmly	in	the	tradition	of	intelligence	shaped	by	the
original	work	on	IQ	a	century	ago.	The	model	put	forth	by	Reuven
Bar-On	is	based	on	his	research	on	well-being.	And	my	own	model
focuses	on	performance	at	work	and	organizational	leadership,
melding	EI	theory	with	decades	of	research	on	modeling	the
competencies	that	set	star	performers	apart	from	average.
Unfortunately,	misreadings	of	this	book	have	spawned	some	myths,
which	I	would	like	to	clear	up	here	and	now.	One	is	the	bizarre—
though	widely	repeated—fallacy	that	“EQ	accounts	for	80	percent	of
success.”	This	claim	is	preposterous.
The	misinterpretation	stems	from	data	suggesting	IQ	accounts	for
about	20	percent	of	career	success.	Because	that	estimate—and	it	is
only	an	estimate—leaves	a	large	portion	of	success	unaccounted	for,


we	must	seek	other	factors	to	explain	the	rest.	It	does
not
	mean,
however,	that	emotional	intelligence	represents	the	rest	of	the	factors
in	success:	they	certainly	include	a	very	wide	range	of	forces—from
the	wealth	and	education	of	the
family	we	are	born	into,	to
temperament,	to	blind	luck	and	the	like—in	addition	to	emotional
intelligence.
As	John	Mayer	and	his	associates	point	out:	“To	the	unsophisticated
reader,	bringing	up	the	‘80	percent	unaccounted	for	variance’	suggests
that	there	may	indeed	be	a	heretofore	overlooked	variable	that	truly
can	predict	huge	portions	of	life	success.	Although	that	is	desirable,
no	variable	studied	in	a	century	of	psychology	has	made	such	a	huge
contribution.”
4
Another	common	misconception	takes	the	form	of	recklessly
applying	this	book’s	subtitle—“Why	it	can	matter	more	than	IQ”—to
domains	like	academic	achievement,	where	it	does	not	apply	without
careful	qualification.	The	extreme	form	of	this	misconception	is	the
myth	that	EI	“matters	more	than	IQ”	in	all	pursuits.
Emotional	intelligence	trumps	IQ	primarily	in	those	“soft”	domains
where	intellect	is	relatively	less	relevant	for	success—where,	for
example,	emotional	self-regulation	and	empathy	may	be	more	salient
skills	than	purely	cognitive	abilities.


skills	than	purely	cognitive	abilities.
As	it	happens,	some	of	these	circumscribed	realms	are	of	major
importance	in	our	lives.	One	that	comes	to	mind	is	health	(as	detailed
in
Chapter	11
),	to	the	extent	that	disturbing	emotions	and	toxic
relationships	have	been	identified	as	risk	factors	in	disease.	Those
who	can	manage	their	emotional	lives	with	more	calm	and	self-
awareness	seem	to	have	a	distinct	and	measurable	health	advantage,
as	has	now	been	confirmed	by	many	studies.
Another	such	domain	is	romantic	love	and	personal	relationships
(see
Chapter	9
),	where,	as	we	all	know,	very	smart	people	can	do	very
dumb	things.	A	third—though	I	have	not	written	about	it	here—
occurs	at	the	top	levels	of	competitive	endeavors	such	as	world-class
sports.	At	that	level,	as	I	was	told	by	a	sports	psychologist	who
coaches	U.S.	Olympic	teams,	everyone	has	put	in	the	requisite	ten
thousand-plus	hours	of	practice,	so	success	hinges	on	the	athlete’s
mental	game.
Research	findings	about	leadership	in	business	and	the	professions
paint	a	more	complex	picture	(
Chapter	10
).	IQ	scores	predict
extremely	well	whether	we	can	handle	the	cognitive	challenges	that	a
given	position	demands.	Hundreds,	perhaps	thousands,	of	studies	have


shown	that	IQ	predicts	which	career	rungs	a	person	can	manage.	No
question	there.
But	IQ	washes	out	when	it	comes	to	predicting	who,	among	a
talented	pool	of	candidates
within
	an	intellectually	demanding
profession,	will	become	the	strongest	leader.	In	part	this	is	because	of
the	“floor	effect”:	everyone	at	the	top	echelons	of	a	given	profession,
or	at	the	top	levels	of
a	large	organization,	has	already	been	sifted	for
intellect	and	expertise.	At	those	lofty	levels	a	high	IQ	becomes	a
“threshold”	ability,	one	needed	just	to	get	into	and	stay	in	the	game.
As	I	proposed	in	my	1998	book
Working	with	Emotional	Intelligence
,
EI	abilities	rather	than	IQ	or	technical	skills	emerge	as	the
“discriminating”	competency	that	best	predicts	who	among	a	group	of
very	smart	people	will	lead	most	ably.	If	you	scan	the	competencies
that	organizations	around	the	world	have	independently	determined
identify	their	star	leaders,	you	discover	that	indicators	of	IQ	and
technical	skill	drop	toward	the	bottom	of	the	list	the	higher	the
position.	(IQ	and	technical	expertise	are	much	stronger	predictors	of
excellence	in	lower-rung	jobs.)
That	point	was	developed	more	fully	in	my	2002	book
Primal


Primal
Leadership:	Learning	to	Lead	with	Emotional	Intelligence
	(coauthored
with	Richard	Boyatzis	and	Annie	McKee).	At	the	very	highest	levels,
competence	models	for	leadership	typically	consist	of	anywhere	from
80	to	100	percent	EI-based	abilities.	As	the	head	of	research	at	a
global	executive	search	firm	put	it,	“CEOs	are	hired	for	their	intellect
and	business	expertise—and	fired	for	a	lack	of	emotional
intelligence.”
When	I	wrote
Emotional	Intelligence
,	I	saw	my	role	as	that	of	a	science
journalist,	reporting	on	a	significant	new	trend	in	psychology,
particularly	the	merging	of	neuroscience	with	the	study	of	emotions.
But	as	my	involvement	in	the	field	deepened,	I	stepped	back	into	my
old	role	as	psychologist	to	offer	my	insights	into	models	of	EI.	As	a
result,	my	formulation	of	emotional	intelligence	has	progressed	since	I
wrote	these	pages.
In
Working	with	Emotional	Intelligence
	I	proposed	an	expanded
framework	that	reflects	how	the	fundamentals	of	EI—self-awareness,
self-management,	social	awareness,	and	the	ability	to	manage
relationships—translate	into	on-the-job	success.	In	doing	so,	I
borrowed	a	concept	from	David	McClelland,	the	Harvard	psychologist
who	had	been	my	mentor	in	graduate	school:
competency
.


While	our	emotional
intelligence
	determines	our	potential	for
learning	the	fundamentals	of	self-mastery	and	the	like,	our	emotional
competence
	shows	how	much	of	that	potential	we	have	mastered	in
ways	that	translate	into	on-the-job	capabilities.	To	be	adept	at	an
emotional	competence	like	customer	service	or	teamwork	requires	an
underlying	ability	in	EI	fundamentals,	specifically	social	awareness
and	relationship	management.	But	emotional	competencies	are
learned	abilities:	having	social	awareness	or	skill	at	managing
relationships	does	not	guarantee	that	one	has	mastered
the	additional
learning	required	to	handle	a	customer	adeptly	or	to	resolve	a
conflict.	One	simply	has	the	potential	to
become
	skilled	at	these
competencies.
Again,	an	underlying	EI	ability	is	necessary,	though	not	sufficient,
to	manifest	a	given	competency	or	job	skill.	A	cognitive	analog	would
be	the	student	who	has	excellent	spatial	abilities	yet	never	learns
geometry,	let	alone	becomes	an	architect.	So,	too,	can	one	be	highly
empathic	yet	poor	at	handling	customers—without	having	learned	the
competency	for	customer	service.	(For	those	ultradedicated	souls
wanting	to	understand	how	my	current	model	nests	twenty	or	so
emotional	competencies	within	the	four	EI	clusters,	see	the	appendix
to


to
Primal	Leadership
.)
In	1995	I	reported	data	from	a	nationwide,	demographically
representative	sample	of	more	than	three	thousand	children	aged
seven	to	sixteen,	rated	by	their	parents	and	teachers,	showing	that
over	the	decade	or	so	between	the	mid-1970s	and	mid-1980s,
indicators	of	emotional	well-being	among	America’s	kids	underwent	a
marked	decline.	These	children	were	more	troubled	and	had	more
problems,	ranging	from	loneliness	and	anxiety	to	disobedience	and
whining.	(Of	course,	there	are	always	individual	exceptions—children
who	grow	up	to	be	outstanding	human	beings—whatever	the	overall
numbers	show.)
But	a	later	group	of	children,	rated	in	1999,	seem	to	have	improved
markedly,	rating	far	better	than	those	in	the	late	1980s,	though	they
were	not	quite	restored	to	the	levels	recorded	in	the	mid-1970s.
5
True,	parents	are	still	likely	to	complain	in	general	about	their	kids,
still	concerned	that	their	children	are	hanging	out	with	“bad
influences,”	and	whining	seems	worse	than	ever.	But	the	trend	is
clearly	upward.
Frankly,	I’m	puzzled.	I	had	conjectured	that	today’s	children	are


unintended	victims	of	economic	and	technological	progress,	deskilled
in	EI	because	their	parents	spend	more	time	at	work	than	in	previous
generations,	because	increased	mobility	has	cut	ties	to	extended
family,	and	because	“free”	time	has	become	so	structured	and
overorganized.	After	all,	emotional	intelligence	has	traditionally	been
passed	on	in	the	midst	of	everyday	life—with	parents	and	relatives,
and	in	the	rough-and-tumble	of	free	play—opportunities	that	are	now
being	lost	to	the	young.
Then	there’s	the	technological	factor.	Today’s	children	spend	more
time	alone	than	ever	before	in	human	history,	staring	at	a	video
monitor.	That	amounts	to	a	natural	experiment	on	an	unprecedented
scale.	Will	these	tech-sawy	children	become	adults	who	are	as
comfortable	with
other	people	as	they	are	with	their	computers?	I
suspected,	rather,	that	a	childhood	spent	relating	to	a	virtual	world
would	deskill	our	young	people	when	it	came	to	relating	person	to
person.
So	went	my	arguments.	Nothing	has	happened	in	the	last	decade	or
so	to	reverse	these	trends.	Yet	children,	thankfully,	seem	to	be	faring
better.
Thomas	Achenbach,	the	University	of	Vermont	psychologist	who
has	done	these	studies,	hypothesizes	that	the	economic	boom	of	the


has	done	these	studies,	hypothesizes	that	the	economic	boom	of	the
1990s	lifted	children	as	well	as	adults;	more	jobs	and	less	crime	meant
better	childrearing.	Should	there	be	another	major	economic
recession,	he	suggests,	we	would	see	another	decline	in	this	measure
of	children’s	skills	for	life.	That	may	well	be;	only	time	will	tell.
The	hyperspeed	at	which	EI	has	become	a	topic	of	importance	in	a
wide	array	of	fields	makes	prediction	difficult,	but	let	me	offer	some
thoughts	on	what	I	hope	for	the	field	in	the	near	future.
Many	of	the	benefits	that	accrue	from	developing	emotional
intelligence	capabilities	have	gone	to	the	privileged,	such	as	high-level
business	executives	and	children	in	private	schools.	Of	course,	many
children	in	impoverished	neighborhoods	have	also	benefited—for
instance,	if	their	schools	implemented	SEL.	But	I	encourage	a	further
democratization	of	this	variety	of	human	skill	development,	reaching
into	often-neglected	pools,	like	families	in	poverty	(where	children	so
often	suffer	emotional	wounds	that	compound	their	plight)	and	to
prisons	(particularly	for	young	offenders	who	could	benefit
enormously	from	strengthening	skills	like	anger	management,	self-
awareness,	and	empathy).	Given	the	right	help	with	these	abilities,


their	lives	would	improve,	and	their	communities	would	be	safer.
I’d	also	like	to	see	the	scope	of	thinking	about	emotional
intelligence	itself	expand,	leaping	from	a	focus	on	capacities	within
the	individual	to	a	focus	on	what	emerges	when	people	interact,
whether	one	on	one	or	in	larger	groups.	Some	research,	notably	the
University	of	New	Hampshire	psychologist	Vanessa	Druskat’s	work	on
how	teams	can	become	emotionally	intelligent,	has	seamlessly	made
this	leap	already.	But	much	more	could	be	done.
Finally,	I	envision	a	day	when	emotional	intelligence	will	have
become	so	widely	understood	that	we	need	not	mention	it	because	it
has	melded	with	our	lives.	In	such	a	future,	SEL	would	have	become
standard	practice	in	schools	everywhere.	Likewise,	EI	qualities	such	as
self-awareness,	managing	destructive	emotions,	and	empathy	would
be	givens	in	the	workplace,
“must-haves”	for	being	hired	and
promoted,	and	most	especially	for	leadership.	If	EI	were	to	become	as
widespread	as	IQ	has	become,	and	as	ingrained	in	society	as	a
measure	of	human	qualities,	then,	I	believe,	our	families,	schools,
jobs,	and	communities	would	be	all	the	more	humane	and	nourishing.


Aristotle’s	Challenge
Anyone	can	become	angry—that	is	easy.	But	to	be	angry	with	the	right	person,	to	the	right
degree,	at	the	right	time,	for	the	right	purpose,	and	in	the	right	way—that	is	not	easy
.
A
RISTOTLE
,
The	Nichomachean	Ethics
It	was	an	unbearably	steamy	August	afternoon	in	New	York	City,	the
kind	of	sweaty	day	that	makes	people	sullen	with	discomfort.	I	was
heading	back	to	a	hotel,	and	as	I	stepped	onto	a	bus	up	Madison
Avenue	I	was	startled	by	the	driver,	a	middle-aged	black	man	with	an
enthusiastic	smile,	who	welcomed	me	with	a	friendly,	“Hi!	How	you
doing?”	as	I	got	on,	a	greeting	he	proffered	to	everyone	else	who
entered	as	the	bus	wormed	through	the	thick	midtown	traffic.	Each
passenger	was	as	startled	as	I,	and,	locked	into	the	morose	mood	of
the	day,	few	returned	his	greeting.
But	as	the	bus	crawled	uptown	through	the	gridlock,	a	slow,	rather
magical	transformation	occurred.	The	driver	gave	a	running
monologue	for	our	benefit,	a	lively	commentary	on	the	passing	scene
around	us:	there	was	a	terrific	sale	at	that	store,	a	wonderful	exhibit
at	this	museum,	did	you	hear	about	the	new	movie	that	just	opened	at


that	cinema	down	the	block?	His	delight	in	the	rich	possibilities	the
city	offered	was	infectious.	By	the	time	people	got	off	the	bus,	each	in
turn	had	shaken	off	the	sullen	shell	they	had	entered	with,	and	when
the	driver	shouted	out	a	“So	long,	have	a	great	day!”	each	gave	a
smiling	response.
The	memory	of	that	encounter	has	stayed	with	me	for	close	to
twenty	years.	When	I	rode	that	Madison	Avenue	bus,	I	had	just
finished	my	own	doctorate	in	psychology—but	there	was	scant
attention	paid	in	the	psychology	of	the	day	to	just	how	such	a
transformation	could	happen.	Psychological	science	knew	little	or
nothing	of	the	mechanics	of	emotion.	And	yet,	imagining	the
spreading	virus	of	good	feeling	that	must	have	rippled	through	the
city,	starting	from	passengers	on	his	bus,	I	saw	that	this	bus	driver
was	an
urban	peacemaker	of	sorts,	wizardlike	in	his	power	to
transmute	the	sullen	irritability	that	seethed	in	his	passengers,	to
soften	and	open	their	hearts	a	bit.	In	stark	contrast,	some	items	from
this	week’s	paper:


•	At	a	local	school,	a	nine-year-old	goes	on	a	rampage,	pouring
paint	over	school	desks,	computers,	and	printers,	and	vandalizing	a
car	in	the	school	parking	lot.	The	reason:	some	third-grade	classmates
called	him	a	“baby”	and	he	wanted	to	impress	them.
•	Eight	youngsters	are	wounded	when	an	inadvertent	bump	in	a
crowd	of	teenagers	milling	outside	a	Manhattan	rap	club	leads	to	a
shoving	match,	which	ends	when	one	of	those	affronted	starts
shooting	a	.38	caliber	automatic	handgun	into	the	crowd.	The	report
notes	that	such	shootings	over	seemingly	minor	slights,	which	are
perceived	as	acts	of	disrespect,	have	become	increasingly	common
around	the	country	in	recent	years.
•	For	murder	victims	under	twelve,	says	a	report,	57	percent	of	the
murderers	are	their	parents	or	stepparents.	In	almost	half	the	cases,
the	parents	say	they	were	“merely	trying	to	discipline	the	child.”	The
fatal	beatings	were	prompted	by	“infractions”	such	as	the	child
blocking	the	TV,	crying,	or	soiling	diapers.
•	A	German	youth	is	on	trial	for	murdering	five	Turkish	women	and
girls	in	a	fire	he	set	while	they	slept.	Part	of	a	neo-Nazi	group,	he	tells


of	failing	to	hold	jobs,	of	drinking,	of	blaming	his	hard	luck	on
foreigners.	In	a	barely	audible	voice,	he	pleads,	“I	can’t	stop	being
sorry	for	what	we’ve	done,	and	I	am	infinitely	ashamed.”
Each	day’s	news	comes	to	us	rife	with	such	reports	of	the
disintegration	of	civility	and	safety,	an	onslaught	of	mean-spirited
impulse	running	amok.	But	the	news	simply	reflects	back	to	us	on	a
larger	scale	a	creeping	sense	of	emotions	out	of	control	in	our	own
lives	and	in	those	of	the	people	around	us.	No	one	is	insulated	from
this	erratic	tide	of	outburst	and	regret;	it	reaches	into	all	of	our	lives
in	one	way	or	another.
The	last	decade	has	seen	a	steady	drumroll	of	reports	like	these,
portraying	an	uptick	in	emotional	ineptitude,	desperation,	and
recklessness	in	our	families,	our	communities,	and	our	collective	lives.
These	years	have	chronicled	surging	rage	and	despair,	whether	in	the
quiet	loneliness	of	latchkey	kids	left	with	a	TV	for	a	babysitter,	or	in
the	pain	of	children	abandoned,	neglected,	or	abused,	or	in	the	ugly
intimacy	of	marital	violence.	A	spreading	emotional	malaise	can	be


read	in	numbers	showing	a	jump	in	depression	around	the	world,	and
in	the	reminders	of	a	surging
tide	of	aggression—teens	with	guns	in
schools,	freeway	mishaps	ending	in	shootings,	disgruntled	ex-


employees	massacring	former	fellow	workers.
Emotional	abuse,	drive-
by	shooting
,	and
post-traumatic	stress
	all	entered	the	common	lexicon
over	the	last	decade,	as	the	slogan	of	the	hour	shifted	from	the	cheery
“Have	a	nice	day”	to	the	testiness	of	“Make	my	day.”
This	book	is	a	guide	to	making	sense	of	the	senselessness.	As	a
psychologist,	and	for	the	last	decade	as	a	journalist	for
The	New	York
Times
,	I	have	been	tracking	the	progress	of	our	scientific
understanding	of	the	realm	of	the	irrational.	From	that	perch	I	have
been	struck	by	two	opposing	trends,	one	portraying	a	growing
calamity	in	our	shared	emotional	life,	the	other	offering	some	hopeful
remedies.
WHY	THIS	EXPLORATION	NOW
The	last	decade,	despite	its	bad	news,	has	also	seen	an	unparalleled
burst	of	scientific	studies	of	emotion.	Most	dramatic	are	the	glimpses
of	the	brain	at	work,	made	possible	by	innovative	methods	such	as
new	brain-imaging	technologies.	They	have	made	visible	for	the	first
time	in	human	history	what	has	always	been	a	source	of	deep
mystery:	exactly	how	this	intricate	mass	of	cells	operates	while	we
think	and	feel,	imagine	and	dream.	This	flood	of	neurobiological	data


lets	us	understand	more	clearly	than	ever	how	the	brain’s	centers	for
emotion	move	us	to	rage	or	to	tears,	and	how	more	ancient	parts	of
the	brain,	which	stir	us	to	make	war	as	well	as	love,	are	channeled	for
better	or	worse.	This	unprecedented	clarity	on	the	workings	of
emotions	and	their	failings	brings	into	focus	some	fresh	remedies	for
our	collective	emotional	crisis.
I	have	had	to	wait	till	now	before	the	scientific	harvest	was	full
enough	to	write	this	book.	These	insights	are	so	late	in	coming	largely
because	the	place	of	feeling	in	mental	life	has	been	surprisingly
slighted	by	research	over	the	years,	leaving	the	emotions	a	largely
unexplored	continent	for	scientific	psychology.	Into	this	void	has
rushed	a	welter	of	self-help	books,	well-intentioned	advice	based	at
best	on	clinical	opinion	but	lacking	much,	if	any,	scientific	basis.	Now
science	is	finally	able	to	speak	with	authority	to	these	urgent	and
perplexing	questions	of	the	psyche	at	its	most	irrational,	to	map	with
some	precision	the	human	heart.
This	mapping	offers	a	challenge	to	those	who	subscribe	to	a	narrow
view	of	intelligence,	arguing	that	IQ	is	a	genetic	given	that	cannot	be


changed	by	life	experience,	and	that	our	destiny	in	life	is	largely	fixed
by
these	aptitudes.	That	argument	ignores	the	more	challenging
question:	What
can
	we	change	that	will	help	our	children	fare	better
in	life?	What	factors	are	at	play,	for	example,	when	people	of	high	IQ
flounder	and	those	of	modest	IQ	do	surprisingly	well?	I	would	argue
that	the	difference	quite	often	lies	in	the	abilities	called	here
emotional
intelligence
,	which	include	self-control,	zeal	and	persistence,	and	the
ability	to	motivate	oneself.	And	these	skills,	as	we	shall	see,	can	be
taught	to	children,	giving	them	a	better	chance	to	use	whatever
intellectual	potential	the	genetic	lottery	may	have	given	them.
Beyond	this	possibility	looms	a	pressing	moral	imperative.	These
are	times	when	the	fabric	of	society	seems	to	unravel	at	ever-greater
speed,	when	selfishness,	violence,	and	a	meanness	of	spirit	seem	to	be
rotting	the	goodness	of	our	communal	lives.	Here	the	argument	for
the	importance	of	emotional	intelligence	hinges	on	the	link	between
sentiment,	character,	and	moral	instincts.	There	is	growing	evidence
that	fundamental	ethical	stances	in	life	stem	from	underlying
emotional	capacities.	For	one,	impulse	is	the	medium	of	emotion;	the


seed	of	all	impulse	is	a	feeling	bursting	to	express	itself	in	action.
Those	who	are	at	the	mercy	of	impulse—who	lack	self-control—suffer
a	moral	deficiency:	The	ability	to	control	impulse	is	the	base	of	will
and	character.	By	the	same	token,	the	root	of	altruism	lies	in	empathy,
the	ability	to	read	emotions	in	others;	lacking	a	sense	of	another’s
need	or	despair,	there	is	no	caring.	And	if	there	are	any	two	moral
stances	that	our	times	call	for,	they	are	precisely	these,	self-restraint
and	compassion.
OUR	JOURNEY
In	this	book	I	serve	as	a	guide	in	a	journey	through	these	scientific
insights	into	the	emotions,	a	voyage	aimed	at	bringing	greater
understanding	to	some	of	the	most	perplexing	moments	in	our	own
lives	and	in	the	world	around	us.	The	journey’s	end	is	to	understand
what	it	means—and	how—to	bring	intelligence	to	emotion.	This
understanding	itself	can	help	to	some	degree;	bringing	cognizance	to
the	realm	of	feeling	has	an	effect	something	like	the	impact	of	an
observer	at	the	quantum	level	in	physics,	altering	what	is	being
observed.
Our	journey	begins	in
Part	One
	with	new	discoveries	about	the


brain’s	emotional	architecture	that	offer	an	explanation	of	those	most
baffling	moments	in	our	lives	when	feeling	overwhelms	all	rationality.
Understanding
the	interplay	of	brain	structures	that	rule	our	moments
of	rage	and	fear—or	passion	and	joy—reveals	much	about	how	we
learn	the	emotional	habits	that	can	undermine	our	best	intentions,	as
well	as	what	we	can	do	to	subdue	our	more	destructive	or	self-
defeating	emotional	impulses.	Most	important,	the	neurological	data
suggest	a	window	of	opportunity	for	shaping	our	children’s	emotional
habits.
The	next	major	stop	on	our	journey,
Part	Two
	of	this	book,	is	in
seeing	how	neurological	givens	play	out	in	the	basic	flair	for	living
called
emotional	intelligence:
	being	able,	for	example,	to	rein	in
emotional	impulse;	to	read	another’s	innermost	feelings;	to	handle
relationships	smoothly—as	Aristotle	put	it,	the	rare	skill	“to	be	angry
with	the	right	person,	to	the	right	degree,	at	the	right	time,	for	the
right	purpose,	and	in	the	right	way.”	(Readers	who	are	not	drawn	to
neurological	detail	may	want	to	proceed	directly	to	this	section.)
This	expanded	model	of	what	it	means	to	be	“intelligent”	puts
emotions	at	the	center	of	aptitudes	for	living.
Part	Three
	examines


Part	Three
	examines
some	key	differences	this	aptitude	makes:	how	these	abilities	can
preserve	our	most	prized	relationships,	or	their	lack	corrode	them;
how	the	market	forces	that	are	reshaping	our	worklife	are	putting	an
unprecedented	premium	on	emotional	intelligence	for	on-the-job
success;	and	how	toxic	emotions	put	our	physical	health	at	as	much
risk	as	does	chain-smoking,	even	as	emotional	balance	can	help
protect	our	health	and	well-being.
Our	genetic	heritage	endows	each	of	us	with	a	series	of	emotional
set-points	that	determines	our	temperament.	But	the	brain	circuitry
involved	is	extraordinarily	malleable;	temperament	is	not	destiny.	As
Part	Four
	shows,	the	emotional	lessons	we	learn	as	children	at	home
and	at	school	shape	the	emotional	circuits,	making	us	more	adept—or
inept—at	the	basics	of	emotional	intelligence.	This	means	that
childhood	and	adolescence	are	critical	windows	of	opportunity	for
setting	down	the	essential	emotional	habits	that	will	govern	our	lives.
Part	Five
	explores	what	hazards	await	those	who,	in	growing	to
maturity,	fail	to	master	the	emotional	realm—how	deficiencies	in
emotional	intelligence	heighten	a	spectrum	of	risks,	from	depression
or	a	life	of	violence	to	eating	disorders	and	drug	abuse.	And	it


documents	how	pioneering	schools	are	teaching	children	the
emotional	and	social	skills	they	need	to	keep	their	lives	on	track.


Perhaps	the	most	disturbing	single	piece	of	data	in	this	book	comes
from	a	massive	survey	of	parents	and	teachers	and	shows	a	worldwide
trend	for	the	present	generation	of	children	to	be	more	troubled
emotionally
than	the	last:	more	lonely	and	depressed,	more	angry	and
unruly,	more	nervous	and	prone	to	worry,	more	impulsive	and
aggressive.
If	there	is	a	remedy,	I	feel	it	must	lie	in	how	we	prepare	our	young
for	life.	At	present	we	leave	the	emotional	education	of	our	children
to	chance,	with	ever	more	disastrous	results.	One	solution	is	a	new
vision	of	what	schools	can	do	to	educate	the	whole	student,	bringing
together	mind	and	heart	in	the	classroom.	Our	journey	ends	with
visits	to	innovative	classes	that	aim	to	give	children	a	grounding	in
the	basics	of	emotional	intelligence.	I	can	foresee	a	day	when
education	will	routinely	include	inculcating	essential	human
competencies	such	as	self-awareness,	self-control,	and	empathy,	and
the	arts	of	listening,	resolving	conflicts,	and	cooperation.
In
The	Nichomachean	Ethics
,	Aristotle’s	philosophical	enquiry	into
virtue,	character,	and	the	good	life,	his	challenge	is	to	manage	our
emotional	life	with	intelligence.	Our	passions,	when	well	exercised,


have	wisdom;	they	guide	our	thinking,	our	values,	our	survival.	But
they	can	easily	go	awry,	and	do	so	all	too	often.	As	Aristotle	saw,	the
problem	is	not	with	emotionality,	but	with	the
appropriateness
	of
emotion	and	its	expression.	The	question	is,	how	can	we	bring
intelligence	to	our	emotions—and	civility	to	our	streets	and	caring	to
our	communal	life?


1
What	Are	Emotions	For?
It	is	with	the	heart	that	one	sees	rightly;	what	is	essential	is	invisible	to	the	eye
.
A
NTOINE	DE
	S
AINT
-E
XUPÉRY
,
The	Little	Prince
Ponder	the	last	moments	of	Gary	and	Mary	Jane	Chauncey,	a	couple
completely	devoted	to	their	eleven-year-old	daughter	Andrea,	who
was	confined	to	a	wheelchair	by	cerebral	palsy.	The	Chauncey	family
were	passengers	on	an	Amtrak	train	that	crashed	into	a	river	after	a
barge	hit	and	weakened	a	railroad	bridge	in	Louisiana’s	bayou
country.	Thinking	first	of	their	daughter,	the	couple	tried	their	best	to
save	Andrea	as	water	rushed	into	the	sinking	train;	somehow	they
managed	to	push	Andrea	through	a	window	to	rescuers.	Then,	as	the
car	sank	beneath	the	water,	they	perished.
1
Andrea’s	story,	of	parents	whose	last	heroic	act	is	to	ensure	their
child’s	survival,	captures	a	moment	of	almost	mythic	courage.
Without	doubt	such	incidents	of	parental	sacrifice	for	their	progeny
have	been	repeated	countless	times	in	human	history	and	prehistory,
and	countless	more	in	the	larger	course	of	evolution	of	our	species.
2
Seen	from	the	perspective	of	evolutionary	biologists,	such	parental


2
Seen	from	the	perspective	of	evolutionary	biologists,	such	parental
self-sacrifice	is	in	the	service	of	“reproductive	success”	in	passing	on
one’s	genes	to	future	generations.	But	from	the	perspective	of	a	parent
making	a	desperate	decision	in	a	moment	of	crisis,	it	is	about	nothing
other	than	love.
As	an	insight	into	the	purpose	and	potency	of	emotions,	this
exemplary	act	of	parental	heroism	testifies	to	the	role	of	altruistic	love
—and	every	other	emotion	we	feel—in	human	life.
3
	It	suggests	that
our	deepest	feelings,	our	passions	and	longings,	are	essential	guides,
and	that	our	species	owes	much
of	its	existence	to	their	power	in
human	affairs.	That	power	is	extraordinary:	Only	a	potent	love—the
urgency	of	saving	a	cherished	child—could	lead	a	parent	to	override
the	impulse	for	personal	survival.	Seen	from	the	intellect,	their	self-
sacrifice	was	arguably	irrational;	seen	from	the	heart,	it	was	the	only


choice	to	make.
Sociobiologists	point	to	the	preeminence	of	heart	over	head	at	such
crucial	moments	when	they	conjecture	about	why	evolution	has	given
emotion	such	a	central	role	in	the	human	psyche.	Our	emotions,	they
say,	guide	us	in	facing	predicaments	and	tasks	too	important	to	leave
to	intellect	alone—danger,	painful	loss,	persisting	toward	a	goal
despite	frustrations,	bonding	with	a	mate,	building	a	family.	Each
emotion	offers	a	distinctive	readiness	to	act;	each	points	us	in	a
direction	that	has	worked	well	to	handle	the	recurring	challenges	of
human	life.
4
	As	these	eternal	situations	were	repeated	and	repeated
over	our	evolutionary	history,	the	survival	value	of	our	emotional
repertoire	was	attested	to	by	its	becoming	imprinted	in	our	nerves	as
innate,	automatic	tendencies	of	the	human	heart.
A	view	of	human	nature	that	ignores	the	power	of	emotions	is	sadly
shortsighted.	The	very	name
Homo	sapiens
,	the	thinking	species,	is
misleading	in	light	of	the	new	appreciation	and	vision	of	the	place	of
emotions	in	our	lives	that	science	now	offers.	As	we	all	know	from
experience,	when	it	comes	to	shaping	our	decisions	and	our	actions,
feeling	counts	every	bit	as	much—and	often	more—than	thought.	We


have	gone	too	far	in	emphasizing	the	value	and	import	of	the	purely
rational—of	what	IQ	measures—in	human	life.	For	better	or	worse,
intelligence	can	come	to	nothing	when	the	emotions	hold	sway.
WHEN	PASSIONS	OVERWHELM	REASON
It	was	a	tragedy	of	errors.	Fourteen-year-old	Matilda	Crabtree	was	just
playing	a	practical	joke	on	her	father:	she	jumped	out	of	a	closet	and
yelled	“Boo!”	as	her	parents	came	home	at	one	in	the	morning	from
visiting	friends.
But	Bobby	Crabtree	and	his	wife	thought	Matilda	was	staying	with
friends	that	night.	Hearing	noises	as	he	entered	the	house,	Crabtree
reached	for	his	.357	caliber	pistol	and	went	into	Matilda’s	bedroom	to
investigate.	When	his	daughter	jumped	from	the	closet,	Crabtree	shot
her	in	the	neck.	Matilda	Crabtree	died	twelve	hours	later.
5
One	emotional	legacy	of	evolution	is	the	fear	that	mobilizes	us	to
protect	our	family	from	danger;	that	impulse	impelled	Bobby	Crabtree
to	get	his	gun
and	search	his	house	for	the	intruder	he	thought	was
prowling	there.	Fear	primed	Crabtree	to	shoot	before	he	could	fully
register	what	he	was	shooting	at,	even	before	he	could	recognize	his


daughter’s	voice.	Automatic	reactions	of	this	sort	have	become	etched
in	our	nervous	system,	evolutionary	biologists	presume,	because	for	a
long	and	crucial	period	in	human	prehistory	they	made	the	difference
between	survival	and	death.	Even	more	important,	they	mattered	for
the	main	task	of	evolution:	being	able	to	bear	progeny	who	would
carry	on	these	very	genetic	predispositions—a	sad	irony,	given	the
tragedy	at	the	Crabtree	household.
But	while	our	emotions	have	been	wise	guides	in	the	evolutionary
long	run,	the	new	realities	civilization	presents	have	arisen	with	such
rapidity	that	the	slow	march	of	evolution	cannot	keep	up.	Indeed,	the
first	laws	and	proclamations	of	ethics—the	Code	of	Hammurabi,	the
Ten	Commandments	of	the	Hebrews,	the	Edicts	of	Emperor	Ashoka—
can	be	read	as	attempts	to	harness,	subdue,	and	domesticate
emotional	life.	As	Freud	described	in
Civilization	and	Its	Discontents
,
society	has	had	to	enforce	from	without	rules	meant	to	subdue	tides	of
emotional	excess	that	surge	too	freely	within.
Despite	these	social	constraints,	passions	overwhelm	reason	time
and	again.	This	given	of	human	nature	arises	from	the	basic
architecture	of	mental	life.	In	terms	of	biological	design	for	the	basic


architecture	of	mental	life.	In	terms	of	biological	design	for	the	basic
neural	circuitry	of	emotion,	what	we	are	born	with	is	what	worked
best	for	the	last	50,000	human	generations,	not	the	last	500
generations—and	certainly	not	the	last	five.	The	slow,	deliberate
forces	of	evolution	that	have	shaped	our	emotions	have	done	their
work	over	the	course	of	a	million	years;	the	last	10,000	years—despite
having	witnessed	the	rapid	rise	of	human	civilization	and	the
explosion	of	the	human	population	from	five	million	to	five	billion—
have	left	little	imprint	on	our	biological	templates	for	emotional	life.
For	better	or	for	worse,	our	appraisal	of	every	personal	encounter
and	our	responses	to	it	are	shaped	not	just	by	our	rational	judgments
or	our	personal	history,	but	also	by	our	distant	ancestral	past.	This
leaves	us	with	sometimes	tragic	propensities,	as	witness	the	sad	events
at	the	Crabtree	household.	In	short,	we	too	often	confront	postmodern
dilemmas	with	an	emotional	repertoire	tailored	to	the	urgencies	of	the
Pleistocene.	That	predicament	is	at	the	heart	of	my	subject.
Impulses	to	Action
One	early	spring	day	I	was	driving	along	a	highway	over	a	mountain
pass	in	Colorado,	when	a	snow	flurry	suddenly	blotted	out	the	car	a
few	lengths


few	lengths
ahead	of	me.	As	I	peered	ahead	I	couldn’t	make	out


anything;	the	swirling	snow	was	now	a	blinding	whiteness.	Pressing
my	foot	on	the	brake,	I	could	feel	anxiety	flood	my	body	and	hear	the
thumping	of	my	heart.
The	anxiety	built	to	full	fear:	I	pulled	over	to	the	side	of	the	road,
waiting	for	the	flurry	to	pass.	A	half	hour	later	the	snow	stopped,
visibility	returned,	and	I	continued	on	my	way—only	to	be	stopped	a
few	hundred	yards	down	the	road,	where	an	ambulance	crew	was
helping	a	passenger	in	a	car	that	had	rear-ended	a	slower	car	in	front;
the	collision	blocked	the	highway.	If	I	had	continued	driving	in	the
blinding	snow,	I	probably	would	have	hit	them.
The	caution	fear	forced	on	me	that	day	may	have	saved	my	life.
Like	a	rabbit	frozen	in	terror	at	the	hint	of	a	passing	fox—or	a
protomammal	hiding	from	a	marauding	dinosaur—I	was	overtaken	by
an	internal	state	that	compelled	me	to	stop,	pay	attention,	and	take
heed	of	a	coming	danger.
All	emotions	are,	in	essence,	impulses	to	act,	the	instant	plans	for
handling	life	that	evolution	has	instilled	in	us.	The	very	root	of	the
word
emotion
	is
motere
,	the	Latin	verb	“to	move,”	plus	the	prefix	“e-”
to	connote	“move	away,”	suggesting	that	a	tendency	to	act	is	implicit


in	every	emotion.	That	emotions	lead	to	actions	is	most	obvious	in
watching	animals	or	children;	it	is	only	in	“civilized”	adults	we	so
often	find	the	great	anomaly	in	the	animal	kingdom,	emotions—root
impulses	to	act—divorced	from	obvious	reaction.
6
In	our	emotional	repertoire	each	emotion	plays	a	unique	role,	as
revealed	by	their	distinctive	biological	signatures	(see
Appendix	A
	for
details	on	“basic”	emotions).	With	new	methods	to	peer	into	the	body
and	brain,	researchers	are	discovering	more	physiological	details	of
how	each	emotion	prepares	the	body	for	a	very	different	kind	of
response:
7
•	With
anger
	blood	flows	to	the	hands,	making	it	easier	to	grasp	a
weapon	or	strike	at	a	foe;	heart	rate	increases,	and	a	rush	of	hormones
such	as	adrenaline	generates	a	pulse	of	energy	strong	enough	for
vigorous	action.
•	With
fear
	blood	goes	to	the	large	skeletal	muscles,	such	as	in	the
legs,	making	it	easier	to	flee—and	making	the	face	blanch	as	blood	is
shunted	away	from	it	(creating	the	feeling	that	the	blood	“runs	cold”).
At	the	same	time,	the	body	freezes,	if	only	for	a	moment,	perhaps
allowing	time	to	gauge	whether	hiding	might	be	a	better	reaction.


allowing	time	to	gauge	whether	hiding	might	be	a	better	reaction.
Circuits	in	the	brain’s	emotional	centers	trigger	a	flood	of	hormones


that	put	the	body	on	general	alert,	making	it	edgy	and	ready	for
action,	and	attention	fixates	on	the	threat	at	hand,	the	better	to
evaluate	what	response	to	make.
•	Among	the	main	biological	changes	in
happiness
	is	an	increased
activity	in	a	brain	center	that	inhibits	negative	feelings	and	fosters	an
increase	in
available	energy,	and	a	quieting	of	those	that	generate
worrisome	thought.	But	there	is	no	particular	shift	in	physiology	save
a	quiescence,	which	makes	the	body	recover	more	quickly	from	the
biological	arousal	of	upsetting	emotions.	This	configuration	offers	the
body	a	general	rest,	as	well	as	readiness	and	enthusiasm	for	whatever
task	is	at	hand	and	for	striving	toward	a	great	variety	of	goals.
•
Love
,	tender	feelings,	and	sexual	satisfaction	entail
parasympathetic	arousal—the	physiological	opposite	of	the	“fight-or-
flight”	mobilization	shared	by	fear	and	anger.	The	parasympathetic
pattern,	dubbed	the	“relaxation	response,”	is	a	bodywide	set	of
reactions	that	generates	a	general	state	of	calm	and	contentment,
facilitating	cooperation.
•	The	lifting	of	the	eyebrows	in
surprise
	allows	the	taking	in	of	a
larger	visual	sweep	and	also	permits	more	light	to	strike	the	retina.
This	offers	more	information	about	the	unexpected	event,	making	it


This	offers	more	information	about	the	unexpected	event,	making	it
easier	to	figure	out	exactly	what	is	going	on	and	concoct	the	best	plan
for	action.
•	Around	the	world	an	expression	of
disgust
	looks	the	same,	and
sends	the	identical	message:	something	is	offensive	in	taste	or	smell,
or	metaphorically	so.	The	facial	expression	of	disgust—the	upper	lip
curled	to	the	side	as	the	nose	wrinkles	slightly—suggests	a	primordial
attempt,	as	Darwin	observed,	to	close	the	nostrils	against	a	noxious
odor	or	to	spit	out	a	poisonous	food.
•	A	main	function	for
sadness
	is	to	help	adjust	to	a	significant	loss,
such	as	the	death	of	someone	close	or	a	major	disappointment.
Sadness	brings	a	drop	in	energy	and	enthusiasm	for	life’s	activities,
particularly	diversions	and	pleasures,	and,	as	it	deepens	and
approaches	depression,	slows	the	body’s	metabolism.	This
introspective	withdrawal	creates	the	opportunity	to	mourn	a	loss	or
frustrated	hope,	grasp	its	consequences	for	one’s	life,	and,	as	energy
returns,	plan	new	beginnings.	This	loss	of	energy	may	well	have	kept
saddened—and	vulnerable—early	humans	close	to	home,	where	they
were	safer.
These	biological	propensities	to	act	are	shaped	further	by	our	life


experience	and	our	culture.	For	instance,	universally	the	loss	of	a
loved	one	elicits	sadness	and	grief.	But	how	we	show	our	grieving—
how	emotions	are	displayed	or	held	back	for	private	moments—is
molded	by	culture,	as	are	which	particular	people	in	our	lives	fall	into
the	category	of	“loved	ones”	to	be	mourned.
The	protracted	period	of	evolution	when	these	emotional	responses
were	hammered	into	shape	was	certainly	a	harsher	reality	than	most
humans	endured	as	a	species	after	the	dawn	of	recorded	history.	It
was	a	time	when	few	infants	survived	to	childhood	and	few	adults	to
thirty	years,	when
predators	could	strike	at	any	moment,	when	the
vagaries	of	droughts	and	floods	meant	the	difference	between
starvation	and	survival.	But	with	the	coming	of	agriculture	and	even
the	most	rudimentary	human	societies,	the	odds	for	survival	began	to
change	dramatically.	In	the	last	ten	thousand	years,	when	these
advances	took	hold	throughout	the	world,	the	ferocious	pressures	that
had	held	the	human	population	in	check	eased	steadily.
Those	same	pressures	had	made	our	emotional	responses	so
valuable	for	survival;	as	they	waned,	so	did	the	goodness	of	fit	of


parts	of	our	emotional	repertoire.	While	in	the	ancient	past	a	hair-
trigger	anger	may	have	offered	a	crucial	edge	for	survival,	the
availability	of	automatic	weaponry	to	thirteen-year-olds	has	made	it
too	often	a	disastrous	reaction.
8
Our	Two
	Minds
A	friend	was	telling	me	about	her	divorce,	a	painful	separation.	Her
husband	had	fallen	in	love	with	a	younger	woman	at	work,	and
suddenly	announced	he	was	leaving	to	live	with	the	other	woman.
Months	of	bitter	wrangling	over	house,	money,	and	custody	of	the
children	followed.	Now,	some	months	later,	she	was	saying	that	her
independence	was	appealing	to	her,	that	she	was	happy	to	be	on	her
own.	“I	just	don’t	think	about	him	anymore—I	really	don’t	care,”	she
said.	But	as	she	said	it,	her	eyes	momentarily	welled	up	with	tears.
That	moment	of	teary	eyes	could	easily	pass	unnoted.	But	the
empathic	understanding	that	someone’s	watering	eyes	means	she	is
sad	despite	her	words	to	the	contrary	is	an	act	of	comprehending	just
as	surely	as	is	distilling	meaning	from	words	on	a	printed	page.	One	is
an	act	of	the	emotional	mind,	the	other	of	the	rational	mind.	In	a	very


real	sense	we	have	two	minds,	one	that	thinks	and	one	that	feels.
These	two	fundamentally	different	ways	of	knowing	interact	to


construct	our	mental	life.	One,	the	rational	mind,	is	the	mode	of
comprehension	we	are	typically	conscious	of:	more	prominent	in
awareness,	thoughtful,	able	to	ponder	and	reflect.	But	alongside	that
there	is	another	system	of	knowing:	impulsive	and	powerful,	if
sometimes	illogical—the	emotional	mind.	(For	a	more	detailed
description	of	the	characteristics	of	the	emotional	mind,	see
Appendix
B
.)
The	emotional/rational	dichotomy	approximates	the	folk	distinction
between	“heart”	and	“head”;	knowing	something	is	right	“in	your
heart”	is	a	different	order	of	conviction—somehow	a	deeper	kind	of
certainty—than	thinking	so	with	your	rational	mind.	There	is	a	steady
gradient	in	the	ratio	of	rational-to-emotional	control	over	the	mind;
the	more	intense	the	feeling,	the
more	dominant	the	emotional	mind
becomes—and	the	more	ineffectual	the	rational.	This	is	an
arrangement	that	seems	to	stem	from	eons	of	evolutionary	advantage
to	having	emotions	and	intuitions	guide	our	instantaneous	response	in
situations	where	our	lives	are	in	peril—and	where	pausing	to	think
over	what	to	do	could	cost	us	our	lives.
These	two	minds,	the	emotional	and	the	rational,	operate	in	tight
harmony	for	the	most	part,	intertwining	their	very	different	ways	of


knowing	to	guide	us	through	the	world.	Ordinarily	there	is	a	balance
between	emotional	and	rational	minds,	with	emotion	feeding	into	and
informing	the	operations	of	the	rational	mind,	and	the	rational	mind
refining	and	sometimes	vetoing	the	inputs	of	the	emotions.	Still,	the
emotional	and	rational	minds	are	semi-independent	faculties,	each,	as
we	shall	see,	reflecting	the	operation	of	distinct,	but	interconnected,
circuitry	in	the	brain.
In	many	or	most	moments	these	minds	are	exquisitely	coordinated;
feelings	are	essential	to	thought,	thought	to	feeling.	But	when
passions	surge	the	balance	tips:	it	is	the	emotional	mind	that	captures
the	upper	hand,	swamping	the	rational	mind.	The	sixteenth-century
humanist	Erasmus	of	Rotterdam	wrote	in	a	satirical	vein	of	this
perennial	tension	between	reason	and	emotion:
9
Jupiter	has	bestowed	far	more	passion	than	reason—you	could	calculate	the	ratio	as	24
to	one.	He	set	up	two	raging	tyrants	in	opposition	to	Reason’s	solitary	power:	anger
and	lust.	How	far	Reason	can	prevail	against	the	combined	forces	of	these	two	the
common	life	of	man	makes	quite	clear.	Reason	does	the	only	thing	she	can	and	shouts


herself	hoarse,	repeating	formulas	of	virtue,	while	the	other	two	bid	her	go	hang
herself,	and	are	increasingly	noisy	and	offensive,	until	at	last	their	Ruler	is	exhausted,


gives	up,	and	surrenders.
HOW	THE	BRAIN	GREW
To	better	grasp	the	potent	hold	of	the	emotions	on	the	thinking	mind
—and	why	feeling	and	reason	are	so	readily	at	war—consider	how	the
brain	evolved.	Human	brains,	with	their	three	pounds	or	so	of	cells
and	neural	juices,	are	about	triple	the	size	of	those	in	our	nearest
cousins	in	evolution,	the	nonhuman	primates.	Over	millions	of	years
of	evolution,	the	brain	has	grown	from	the	bottom	up,	with	its	higher
centers	developing	as	elaborations	of	lower,	more	ancient	parts.	(The
growth	of	the	brain	in	the	human	embryo	roughly	retraces	this
evolutionary	course.)
The	most	primitive	part	of	the	brain,	shared	with	all	species	that
have	more	than	a	minimal	nervous	system,	is	the	brainstem
surrounding	the	top	of	the	spinal	cord.	This	root	brain	regulates	basic
life	functions	like	breathing	and	the	metabolism	of	the	body’s	other
organs,	as	well	as	controlling	stereotyped	reactions	and	movements.
This	primitive	brain	cannot	be	said	to	think	or	learn;	rather	it	is	a	set
of	preprogrammed	regulators	that	keep	the	body	running	as	it	should
and	reacting	in	a	way	that	ensures	survival.	This	brain	reigned
supreme	in	the	Age	of	the	Reptiles:	Picture	a	snake	hissing	to	signal


the	threat	of	an	attack.
From	the	most	primitive	root,	the	brainstem,	emerged	the
emotional	centers.	Millions	of	years	later	in	evolution,	from	these
emotional	areas	evolved	the	thinking	brain	or	“neocortex,”	the	great
bulb	of	convoluted	tissues	that	make	up	the	top	layers.	The	fact	that
the	thinking	brain	grew	from	the	emotional	reveals	much	about	the
relationship	of	thought	to	feeling;	there	was	an	emotional	brain	long
before	there	was	a	rational	one.
The	most	ancient	root	of	our	emotional	life	is	in	the	sense	of	smell,
or,	more	precisely,	in	the	olfactory	lobe,	the	cells	that	take	in	and
analyze	smell.	Every	living	entity,	be	it	nutritious,	poisonous,	sexual
partner,	predator	or	prey,	has	a	distinctive	molecular	signature	that
can	be	carried	in	the	wind.	In	those	primitive	times	smell	commended
itself	as	a	paramount	sense	for	survival.
From	the	olfactory	lobe	the	ancient	centers	for	emotion	began	to
evolve,	eventually	growing	large	enough	to	encircle	the	top	of	the
brainstem.	In	its	rudimentary	stages,	the	olfactory	center	was


composed	of	little	more	than	thin	layers	of	neurons	gathered	to
analyze	smell.	One	layer	of	cells	took	in	what	was	smelled	and	sorted
it	out	into	the	relevant	categories:	edible	or	toxic,	sexually	available,
enemy	or	meal.	A	second	layer	of	cells	sent	reflexive	messages
throughout	the	nervous	system	telling	the	body	what	to	do:	bite,	spit,
approach,	flee,	chase.
10
With	the	arrival	of	the	first	mammals	came	new,	key	layers	of	the
emotional	brain.	These,	surrounding	the	brainstem,	look	roughly	like
a	bagel	with	a	bite	taken	out	at	the	bottom	where	the	brainstem
nestles	into	them.	Because	this	part	of	the	brain	rings	and	borders	the
brainstem,	it	was	called	the	“limbic”	system,	from	“limbus,”	the	Latin
word	for	“ring.”	This	new	neural	territory	added	emotions	proper	to
the	brain’s	repertoire.
11
	When	we	are	in	the	grip	of	craving	or	fury,
head-over-heels	in	love	or	recoiling	in	dread,	it	is	the	limbic	system
that	has	us	in	its	grip.
As	it	evolved,	the	limbic	system	refined	two	powerful	tools:	learning
and	memory.	These	revolutionary	advances	allowed	an	animal	to	be
much	smarter	in	its	choices	for	survival,	and	to	fine-tune	its	responses
to	adapt	to


to	adapt	to
changing	demands	rather	than	having	invariable	and
automatic	reactions.	If	a	food	led	to	sickness,	it	could	be	avoided	next
time.	Decisions	like	knowing	what	to	eat	and	what	to	spurn	were	still
determined	largely	through	smell;	the	connections	between	the
olfactory	bulb	and	the	limbic	system	now	took	on	the	tasks	of	making
distinctions	among	smells	and	recognizing	them,	comparing	a	present
smell	with	past	ones,	and	so	discriminating	good	from	bad.	This	was
done	by	the	“rhinencephalon,”	literally,	the	“nose	brain,”	a	part	of	the
limbic	wiring,	and	the	rudimentary	basis	of	the	neocortex,	the
thinking	brain.
About	100	million	years	ago	the	brain	in	mammals	took	a	great
growth	spurt.	Piled	on	top	of	the	thin	two-layered	cortex—the	regions
that	plan,	comprehend	what	is	sensed,	coordinate	movement—several
new	layers	of	brain	cells	were	added	to	form	the	neocortex.	In
contrast	to	the	ancient	brain’s	two-layered	cortex,	the	neocortex
offered	an	extraordinary	intellectual	edge.
The
Homo	sapiens
	neocortex,	so	much	larger	than	in	any	other
species,	has	added	all	that	is	distinctly	human.	The	neocortex	is	the
seat	of	thought;	it	contains	the	centers	that	put	together	and


seat	of	thought;	it	contains	the	centers	that	put	together	and
comprehend	what	the	senses	perceive.	It	adds	to	a	feeling	what	we
think	about	it—and	allows	us	to	have	feelings	about	ideas,	art,
symbols,	imaginings.


In	evolution	the	neocortex	allowed	a	judicious	fine-tuning	that	no
doubt	has	made	enormous	advantages	in	an	organism’s	ability	to
survive	adversity,	making	it	more	likely	that	its	progeny	would	in	turn
pass	on	the	genes	that	contain	that	same	neural	circuitry.	The	survival
edge	is	due	to	the	neocortex’s	talent	for	strategizing,	long-term
planning,	and	other	mental	wiles.	Beyond	that,	the	triumphs	of	art,	of
civilization	and	culture,	are	all	fruits	of	the	neocortex.
This	new	addition	to	the	brain	allowed	the	addition	of	nuance	to
emotional	life.	Take	love.	Limbic	structures	generate	feelings	of
pleasure	and	sexual	desire—the	emotions	that	feed	sexual	passion.	But
the	addition	of	the	neocortex	and	its	connections	to	the	limbic	system
allowed	for	the	mother-child	bond	that	is	the	basis	of	the	family	unit
and	the	long-term	commitment	to	childrearing	that	makes	human
development	possible.	(Species	that	have	no	neocortex,	such	as
reptiles,	lack	maternal	affection;	when	their	young	hatch,	the
newborns	must	hide	to	avoid	being	cannibalized.)	In	humans	the
protective	bond	between	parent	and	child	allows	much	of	maturation
to	go	on	over	the	course	of	a	long	childhood—during	which	the	brain
continues	to	develop.


continues	to	develop.
As	we	proceed	up	the	phylogenetic	scale	from	reptile	to	rhesus	to
human,	the	sheer	mass	of	the	neocortex	increases;	with	that	increase
comes	a
geometrie	rise	in	the	interconnections	in	brain	circuitry.	The
larger	the	number	of	such	connections,	the	greater	the	range	of
possible	responses.	The	neocortex	allows	for	the	subtlety	and
complexity	of	emotional	life,	such	as	the	ability	to	have	feelings
about
our	feelings.	There	is	more	neocortex-to-limbic	system	in	primates
than	in	other	species—and	vastly	more	in	humans—suggesting	why
we	are	able	to	display	a	far	greater	range	of	reactions	to	our	emotions,
and	more	nuance.	While	a	rabbit	or	rhesus	has	a	restricted	set	of
typical	responses	to	fear,	the	larger	human	neocortex	allows	a	far
more	nimble	repertoire—including	calling	911.	The	more	complex	the
social	system,	the	more	essential	is	such	flexibility—and	there	is	no
more	complex	social	world	than	our	own.
12
But	these	higher	centers	do	not	govern	all	of	emotional	life;	in
crucial	matters	of	the	heart—and	most	especially	in	emotional
emergencies—they	can	be	said	to	defer	to	the	limbic	system.	Because
so	many	of	the	brain’s	higher	centers	sprouted	from	or	extended	the


scope	of	the	limbic	area,	the	emotional	brain	plays	a	crucial	role	in
neural	architecture.	As	the	root	from	which	the	newer	brain	grew,	the
emotional	areas	are	intertwined	via	myriad	connecting	circuits	to	all


parts	of	the	neocortex.	This	gives	the	emotional	centers	immense
power	to	influence	the	functioning	of	the	rest	of	the	brain—including
its	centers	for	thought.


2
Anatomy	of	an	Emotional	Hijacking
Life	is	a	comedy	for	those	who	think	and	a	tragedy	for	those	who	feel
.
H
ORACE
	W
ALPOLE
It	was	a	hot	August	afternoon	in	1963,	the	same	day	that	the	Rev.
Martin	Luther	King,	Jr.,	gave	his	“I	Have	a	Dream”	speech	to	a	civil
rights	march	on	Washington.	On	that	day	Richard	Robles,	a	seasoned
burglar	who	had	just	been	paroled	from	a	three-year	sentence	for	the
more	than	one	hundred	break-ins	he	had	pulled	to	support	a	heroin
habit,	decided	to	do	one	more.	He	wanted	to	renounce	crime,	Robles
later	claimed,	but	he	desperately	needed	money	for	his	girlfriend	and
their	three-year-old	daughter.
The	apartment	he	broke	into	that	day	belonged	to	two	young
women,	twenty-one-year-old	Janice	Wylie,	a	researcher	at
Newsweek
magazine,	and	twenty-three-year-old	Emily	Hoffert,	a	grade-school
teacher.	Though	Robles	chose	the	apartment	on	New	York’s	swanky
Upper	East	Side	to	burglarize	because	he	thought	no	one	would	be
there,	Wylie	was	home.	Threatening	her	with	a	knife,	Robles	tied	her


up.	As	he	was	leaving,	Hoffert	came	home.	To	make	good	his	escape,
Robles	began	to	tie	her	up,	too.
As	Robles	tells	the	tale	years	later,	while	he	was	tying	up	Hoffert,
Janice	Wylie	warned	him	he	would	not	get	away	with	this	crime:	She
would	remember	his	face	and	help	the	police	track	him	down.	Robles,
who	had	promised	himself	this	was	to	have	been	his	last	burglary,
panicked	at	that,	completely	losing	control.	In	a	frenzy,	he	grabbed	a
soda	bottle	and	clubbed
the	women	until	they	were	unconscious,
then,	awash	in	rage	and	fear,	he	slashed	and	stabbed	them	over	and
over	with	a	kitchen	knife.	Looking	back	on	that	moment	some	twenty-
five	years	later,	Robles	lamented,	“I	just	went	bananas.	My	head	just
exploded.”
To	this	day	Robles	has	lots	of	time	to	regret	those	few	minutes	of
rage	unleashed.	At	this	writing	he	is	still	in	prison,	some	three
decades	later,	for	what	became	known	as	the	“Career	Girl	Murders.”


Such	emotional	explosions	are	neural	hijackings.	At	those	moments,
evidence	suggests,	a	center	in	the	limbic	brain	proclaims	an
emergency,	recruiting	the	rest	of	the	brain	to	its	urgent	agenda.	The
hijacking	occurs	in	an	instant,	triggering	this	reaction	crucial
moments	before	the	neocortex,	the	thinking	brain,	has	had	a	chance
to	glimpse	fully	what	is	happening,	let	alone	decide	if	it	is	a	good
idea.	The	hallmark	of	such	a	hijack	is	that	once	the	moment	passes,
those	so	possessed	have	the	sense	of	not	knowing	what	came	over
them.
These	hijacks	are	by	no	means	isolated,	horrific	incidents	that	lead
to	brutal	crimes	like	the	Career	Girl	Murders.	In	less	catastrophic	form
—but	not	necessarily	less	intense—they	happen	to	us	with	fair
frequency.	Think	back	to	the	last	time	you	“lost	it,”	blowing	up	at
someone—your	spouse	or	child,	or	perhaps	the	driver	of	another	car—
to	a	degree	that	later,	with	some	reflection	and	hindsight,	seemed
uncalled	for.	In	all	probability,	that,	too,	was	such	a	hijacking,	a
neural	takeover	which,	as	we	shall	see,	originates	in	the	amygdala,	a
center	in	the	limbic	brain.
Not	all	limbic	hijackings	are	distressing.	When	a	joke	strikes


someone	as	so	uproarious	that	their	laughter	is	almost	explosive,	that,
too,	is	a	limbic	response.	It	is	at	work	also	in	moments	of	intense	joy:
When	Dan	Jansen,	after	several	heartbreaking	failures	to	capture	an
Olympic	Gold	Medal	for	speed	skating	(which	he	had	vowed	to	do	for
his	dying	sister),	finally	won	the	Gold	in	the	1,000-meter	race	in	the
1994	Winter	Olympics	in	Norway,	his	wife	was	so	overcome	by	the
excitement	and	happiness	that	she	had	to	be	rushed	to	emergency
physicians	at	rinkside.
THE	SEAT	OF	ALL	PASSION
In	humans	the	amygdala	(from	the	Greek	word	for	“almond”)	is	an
almond-shaped	cluster	of	interconnected	structures	perched	above	the
brainstem,	near	the	bottom	of	the	limbic	ring.	There	are	two
amygdalas,	one	on	each	side	of	the	brain,	nestled	toward	the	side	of
the	head.	The	human	amygdala	is
relatively	large	compared	to	that	in
any	of	our	closest	evolutionary	cousins,	the	primates.
The	hippocampus	and	the	amygdala	were	the	two	key	parts	of	the
primitive	“nose	brain”	that,	in	evolution,	gave	rise	to	the	cortex	and
then	the	neocortex.	To	this	day	these	limbic	structures	do	much	or


most	of	the	brain’s	learning	and	remembering;	the	amygdala	is	the
specialist	for	emotional	matters.	If	the	amygdala	is	severed	from	the
rest	of	the	brain,	the	result	is	a	striking	inability	to	gauge	the
emotional	significance	of	events;	this	condition	is	sometimes	called
“affective	blindness.”
Lacking	emotional	weight,	encounters	lose	their	hold.	One	young
man	whose	amygdala	had	been	surgically	removed	to	control	severe
seizures	became	completely	uninterested	in	people,	preferring	to	sit	in
isolation	with	no	human	contact.	While	he	was	perfectly	capable	of
conversation,	he	no	longer	recognized	close	friends,	relatives,	or	even
his	mother,	and	remained	impassive	in	the	face	of	their	anguish	at	his
indifference.	Without	an	amygdala	he	seemed	to	have	lost	all
recognition	of	feeling,	as	well	as	any	feeling	about	feelings.
1
	The
amygdala	acts	as	a	storehouse	of	emotional	memory,	and	thus	of
significance	itself;	life	without	the	amygdala	is	a	life	stripped	of
personal	meanings.
More	than	affection	is	tied	to	the	amygdala;	all	passion	depends	on
it.	Animals	that	have	their	amygdala	removed	or	severed	lack	fear	and
rage,	lose	the	urge	to	compete	or	cooperate,	and	no	longer	have	any


sense	of	their	place	in	their	kind’s	social	order;	emotion	is	blunted	or
absent.	Tears,	an	emotional	signal	unique	to	humans,	are	triggered	by
the	amygdala	and	a	nearby	structure,	the	cingulate	gyrus;	being	held,
stroked,	or	otherwise	comforted	soothes	these	same	brain	regions,
stopping	the	sobs.	Without	an	amygdala,	there	are	no	tears	of	sorrow
to	soothe.
Joseph	LeDoux,	a	neuroscientist	at	the	Center	for	Neural	Science	at
New	York	University,	was	the	first	to	discover	the	key	role	of	the
amygdala	in	the	emotional	brain.
2
	LeDoux	is	part	of	a	fresh	breed	of
neuroscientists	who	draw	on	innovative	methods	and	technologies
that	bring	a	previously	unknown	level	of	precision	to	mapping	the
brain	at	work,	and	so	can	lay	bare	mysteries	of	mind	that	earlier
generations	of	scientists	have	found	impenetrable.	His	findings	on	the
circuitry	of	the	emotional	brain	overthrow	a	long-standing	notion
about	the	limbic	system,	putting	the	amygdala	at	the	center	of	the
action	and	placing	other	limbic	structures	in	very	different	roles.
3
LeDoux’s	research	explains	how	the	amygdala	can	take	control	over
what	we	do	even	as	the	thinking	brain,	the	neocortex,	is	still	coming
to	a	decision.


to	a	decision.
As	we	shall	see,	the	workings	of	the	amygdala	and	its	interplay	with
the	neocortex	are	at	the	heart	of	emotional	intelligence.


THE	NEURAL	TRIPWIRE
Most	intriguing	for	understanding	the	power	of	emotions	in	mental
life	are	those	moments	of	impassioned	action	that	we	later	regret,
once	the	dust	has	settled;	the	question	is	how	we	so	easily	become	so
irrational.	Take,	for	example,	a	young	woman	who	drove	two	hours	to
Boston	to	have	brunch	and	spend	the	day	with	her	boyfriend.	During
brunch	he	gave	her	a	present	she’d	been	wanting	for	months,	a	hard-
to-find	art	print	brought	back	from	Spain.	But	her	delight	dissolved
the	moment	she	suggested	that	after	brunch	they	go	to	a	matinee	of	a
movie	she’d	been	wanting	to	see	and	her	friend	stunned	her	by	saying
he	couldn’t	spend	the	day	with	her	because	he	had	softball	practice.
Hurt	and	incredulous,	she	got	up	in	tears,	left	the	cafe,	and,	on
impulse,	threw	the	print	in	a	garbage	can.	Months	later,	recounting
the	incident,	it’s	not	walking	out	she	regrets,	but	the	loss	of	the	print.
It	is	in	moments	such	as	these—when	impulsive	feeling	overrides
the	rational—that	the	newly	discovered	role	for	the	amygdala	is
pivotal.	Incoming	signals	from	the	senses	let	the	amygdala	scan	every


experience	for	trouble.	This	puts	the	amygdala	in	a	powerful	post	in
mental	life,	something	like	a	psychological	sentinel,	challenging	every
situation,	every	perception,	with	but	one	kind	of	question	in	mind,	the
most	primitive:	“Is	this	something	I	hate?	That	hurts	me?	Something	I
fear?”	If	so—if	the	moment	at	hand	somehow	draws	a	“Yes”—the
amygdala	reacts	instantaneously,	like	a	neural	tripwire,	telegraphing	a
message	of	crisis	to	all	parts	of	the	brain.
In	the	brain’s	architecture,	the	amygdala	is	poised	something	like	an
alarm	company	where	operators	stand	ready	to	send	out	emergency
calls	to	the	fire	department,	police,	and	a	neighbor	whenever	a	home
security	system	signals	trouble.
When	it	sounds	an	alarm	of,	say,	fear,	it	sends	urgent	messages	to
every	major	part	of	the	brain:	it	triggers	the	secretion	of	the	body’s
fight-or-flight	hormones,	mobilizes	the	centers	for	movement,	and
activates	the	cardiovascular	system,	the	muscles,	and	the	gut.
4
	Other
circuits	from	the	amygdala	signal	the	secretion	of	emergency	dollops
of	the	hormone	norepinephrine	to	heighten	the	reactivity	of	key	brain
areas,	including	those	that	make	the	senses	more	alert,	in	effect
setting	the	brain	on	edge.	Additional	signals	from	the	amygdala	tell


the	brainstem	to	fix	the	face	in	a	fearful	expression,
freeze	unrelated
movements	the	muscles	had	underway,	speed	heart	rate	and	raise
blood	pressure,	slow	breathing.	Others	rivet	attention	on	the	source	of


the	fear,	and	prepare	the	muscles	to	react	accordingly.
Simultaneously,	cortical	memory	systems	are	shuffled	to	retrieve	any
knowledge	relevant	to	the	emergency	at	hand,	taking	precedence	over
other	strands	of	thought.
And	these	are	just	part	of	a	carefully	coordinated	array	of	changes
the	amygdala	orchestrates	as	it	commandeers	areas	throughout	the
brain	(for	a	more	detailed	account,	see
Appendix	C
).	The	amygdala’s
extensive	web	of	neural	connections	allows	it,	during	an	emotional
emergency,	to	capture	and	drive	much	of	the	rest	of	the	brain—
including	the	rational	mind.
THE	EMOTIONAL	SENTINEL
A	friend	tells	of	having	been	on	vacation	in	England,	and	eating
brunch	at	a	canalside	cafe.	Taking	a	stroll	afterward	along	the	stone
steps	down	to	the	canal,	he	suddenly	saw	a	girl	gazing	at	the	water,
her	face	frozen	in	fear.	Before	he	knew	quite	why,	he	had	jumped	in
the	water—in	his	coat	and	tie.	Only	once	he	was	in	the	water	did	he
realize	that	the	girl	was	staring	in	shock	at	a	toddler	who	had	fallen	in
—whom	he	was	able	to	rescue.
What	made	him	jump	in	the	water	before	he	knew	why?	The
answer,	very	likely,	was	his	amygdala.


answer,	very	likely,	was	his	amygdala.
In	one	of	the	most	telling	discoveries	about	emotions	of	the	last
decade,	LeDoux’s	work	revealed	how	the	architecture	of	the	brain
gives	the	amygdala	a	privileged	position	as	an	emotional	sentinel,
able	to	hijack	the	brain.
5
	His	research	has	shown	that	sensory	signals
from	eye	or	ear	travel	first	in	the	brain	to	the	thalamus,	and	then—
across	a	single	synapse—to	the	amygdala;	a	second	signal	from	the
thalamus	is	routed	to	the	neocortex—the	thinking	brain.	This
branching	allows	the	amygdala	to	begin	to	respond
before
	the
neocortex,	which	mulls	information	through	several	levels	of	brain
circuits	before	it	fully	perceives	and	finally	initiates	its	more	finely
tailored	response.
LeDoux’s	research	is	revolutionary	for	understanding	emotional	life
because	it	is	the	first	to	work	out	neural	pathways	for	feelings	that
bypass	the	neocortex.	Those	feelings	that	take	the	direct	route	through
the	amygdala	include	our	most	primitive	and	potent;	this	circuit	does
much	to	explain	the	power	of	emotion	to	overwhelm	rationality.
The	conventional	view	in	neuroscience	had	been	that	the	eye,	ear,


and	other	sensory	organs	transmit	signals	to	the	thalamus,	and	from
there	to
sensory	processing	areas	of	the	neocortex,	where	the	signals
are	put	together	into	objects	as	we	perceive	them.	The	signals	are
sorted	for	meanings	so	that	the	brain	recognizes	what	each	object	is
and	what	its	presence	means.	From	the	neocortex,	the	old	theory	held,
the	signals	are	sent	to	the	limbic	brain,	and	from	there	the	appropriate
response	radiates	out	through	the	brain	and	the	rest	of	the	body.	That
is	the	way	it	works	much	or	most	of	the	time—but	LeDoux	discovered
a	smaller	bundle	of	neurons	that	leads	directly	from	the	thalamus	to
the	amygdala,	in	addition	to	those	going	through	the	larger	path	of
neurons	to	the	cortex.	This	smaller	and	shorter	pathway—something
like	a	neural	back	alley—allows	the	amygdala	to	receive	some	direct
inputs	from	the	senses	and	start	a	response
before
	they	are	fully
registered	by	the	neocortex.
This	discovery	overthrows	the	notion	that	the	amygdala	must
depend	entirely	on	signals	from	the	neocortex	to	formulate	its
emotional	reactions.	The	amygdala	can	trigger	an	emotional	response
via	this	emergency	route	even	as	a	parallel	reverberating	circuit
begins	between	the	amygdala	and	neocortex.	The	amygdala	can	have


us	spring	to	action	while	the	slightly	slower—but	more	fully	informed
—neocortex	unfolds	its	more	refined	plan	for	reaction.
LeDoux	overturned	the	prevailing	wisdom	about	the	pathways
traveled	by	emotions	through	his	research	on	fear	in	animals.	In	a
crucial	experiment	he	destroyed	the	auditory	cortex	of	rats,	then
exposed	them	to	a	tone	paired	with	an	electric	shock.	The	rats	quickly
learned	to	fear	the	tone,	even	though	the	sound	of	the	tone	could	not
register	in	their	neocortex.	Instead,	the	sound	took	the	direct	route
from	ear	to	thalamus	to	amygdala,	skipping	all	higher	avenues.	In
short,	the	rats	had	learned	an	emotional	reaction	without	any	higher
cortical	involvement:	The	amygdala	perceived,	remembered,	and
orchestrated	their	fear	independently.
“Anatomically	the	emotional	system	can	act	independently	of	the
neocortex,”	LeDoux	told	me.	“Some	emotional	reactions	and
emotional	memories	can	be	formed	without	any	conscious,	cognitive
participation	at	all.”	The	amygdala	can	house	memories	and	response
repertoires	that	we	enact	without	quite	realizing	why	we	do	so
because	the	shortcut	from	thalamus	to	amygdala	completely	bypasses
the	neocortex.	This	bypass	seems	to	allow	the	amygdala	to	be	a


repository	for	emotional	impressions	and	memories	that	we	have
never	known	about	in	full	awareness.	LeDoux	proposes	that	it	is	the


amygdala’s	subterranean	role	in	memory	that	explains,	for	example,	a
startling	experiment	in	which	people	acquired	a	preference	for	oddly
shaped
geometric	figures	that	had	been	flashed	at	them	so	quickly
that	they	had	no	conscious	awareness	of	having	seen	them	at	all!
6
A	visual	signal	first	goes	from	the	retina	to	the	thalamus,	where	it	is	translated	into	the	language	of
the	brain.	Most	of	the	message	then	goes	to	the	visual	cortex,	where	it	is	analyzed	and	assessed	for
meaning	and	appropriate	response;	if	that	response	is	emotional,	a	signal	goes	to	the	amygdala	to
activate	the	emotional	centers.	But	a	smaller	portion	of	the	original	signal	goes	straight	from	the
thalamus	to	the	amygdala	in	a	quicker	transmission,	allowing	a	faster	(though	less	precise)
response.	Thus	the	amygdala	can	trigger	an	emotional	response	before	the	cortical	centers	have	fully
understood	what	is	happening
.
Other	research	has	shown	that	in	the	first	few	milliseconds	of	our
perceiving	something	we	not	only	unconsciously	comprehend	what	it
is,	but	decide	whether	we	like	it	or	not;	the	“cognitive	unconscious”
presents	our	awareness	with	not	just	the	identity	of	what	we	see,	but
an	opinion	about	it.
7
	Our	emotions	have	a	mind	of	their	own,	one


7
	Our	emotions	have	a	mind	of	their	own,	one
which	can	hold	views	quite	independently	of	our	rational	mind.


THE	SPECIALIST	IN	EMOTIONAL	MEMORY
Those	unconscious	opinions	are	emotional	memories;	their	storehouse
is	the	amygdala.	Research	by	LeDoux	and	other	neuroscientists	now
seems	to	suggest	that	the	hippocampus,	which	has	long	been
considered	the	key	structure	of	the	limbic	system,	is	more	involved	in
registering	and	making	sense	of	perceptual	patterns	than	with
emotional	reactions.	The	hippocampus’s	main	input	is	in	providing	a
keen	memory	of	context,	vital	for	emotional	meaning;	it	is	the
hippocampus	that	recognizes	the	differing	significance	of,	say,	a	bear
in	the	zoo	versus	one	in	your	backyard.
While	the	hippocampus	remembers	the	dry	facts,	the	amygdala
retains	the	emotional	flavor	that	goes	with	those	facts.	If	we	try	to
pass	a	car	on	a	two-lane	highway	and	narrowly	miss	having	a	head-on
collision,	the	hippocampus	retains	the	specifics	of	the	incident,	like
what	stretch	of	road	we	were	on,	who	was	with	us,	what	the	other	car
looked	like.	But	it	is	the	amygdala	that	everafter	will	send	a	surge	of
anxiety	through	us	whenever	we	try	to	pass	a	car	in	similar
circumstances.	As	LeDoux	put	it	to	me,	“The	hippocampus	is	crucial	in


recognizing	a	face	as	that	of	your	cousin.	But	it	is	the	amygdala	that
adds	you	don’t	really	like	her.”
The	brain	uses	a	simple	but	cunning	method	to	make	emotional
memories	register	with	special	potency:	the	very	same	neurochemical
alerting	systems	that	prime	the	body	to	react	to	life-threatening
emergencies	by	fighting	or	fleeing	also	stamp	the	moment	in	memory
with	vividness.
8
	Under	stress	(or	anxiety,	or	presumably	even	the
intense	excitement	of	joy)	a	nerve	running	from	the	brain	to	the
adrenal	glands	atop	the	kidneys	triggers	a	secretion	of	the	hormones
epinephrine	and	norepinephrine,	which	surge	through	the	body
priming	it	for	an	emergency.	These	hormones	activate	receptors	on
the	vagus	nerve;	while	the	vagus	nerve	carries	messages	from	the
brain	to	regulate	the	heart,	it	also	carries	signals	back
into	the	brain,
triggered	by	epinephrine	and	norepinephrine.	The	amygdala	is	the
main	site	in	the	brain	where	these	signals	go;	they	activate	neurons
within	the	amygdala	to	signal	other	brain	regions	to	strengthen
memory	for	what	is	happening.
This	amygdala	arousal	seems	to	imprint	in	memory	most	moments
of	emotional	arousal	with	an	added	degree	of	strength—that’s	why	we


are	more	likely,	for	example,	to	remember	where	we	went	on	a	first
date,	or	what	we	were	doing	when	we	heard	the	news	that	the	space


shuttle
Challenger
	had	exploded.	The	more	intense	the	amygdala
arousal,	the	stronger	the	imprint;	the	experiences	that	scare	or	thrill
us	the	most	in	life	are	among	our	most	indelible	memories.	This
means	that,	in	effect,	the	brain	has	two	memory	systems,	one	for
ordinary	facts	and	one	for	emotionally	charged	ones.	A	special	system
for	emotional	memories	makes	excellent	sense	in	evolution,	of	course,
ensuring	that	animals	would	have	particularly	vivid	memories	of	what
threatens	or	pleases	them.	But	emotional	memories	can	be	faulty
guides	to	the	present.
OUT-OF-DATE	NEURAL	ALARMS
One	drawback	of	such	neural	alarms	is	that	the	urgent	message	the
amygdala	sends	is	sometimes,	if	not	often,	out-of-date—especially	in
the	fluid	social	world	we	humans	inhabit.	As	the	repository	for
emotional	memory,	the	amygdala	scans	experience,	comparing	what
is	happening	now	with	what	happened	in	the	past.	Its	method	of
comparison	is	associative:	when	one	key	element	of	a	present
situation	is	similar	to	the	past,	it	can	call	it	a	“match”—which	is	why
this	circuit	is	sloppy:	it	acts	before	there	is	full	confirmation.	It
frantically	commands	that	we	react	to	the	present	in	ways	that	were
imprinted	long	ago,	with	thoughts,	emotions,	reactions	learned	in


response	to	events	perhaps	only	dimly	similar,	but	close	enough	to
alarm	the	amygdala.
Thus	a	former	army	nurse,	traumatized	by	the	relentless	flood	of
ghastly	wounds	she	once	tended	in	wartime,	is	suddenly	swept	with	a
mix	of	dread,	loathing,	and	panic—a	repeat	of	her	battlefield	reaction
triggered	once	again,	years	later,	by	the	stench	when	she	opens	a
closet	door	to	find	her	toddler	had	stashed	a	stinking	diaper	there.	A
few	spare	elements	of	the	situation	is	all	that	need	seem	similar	to
some	past	danger	for	the	amygdala	to	trigger	its	emergency
proclamation.	The	trouble	is	that	along	with	the	emotionally	charged
memories	that	have	the	power	to	trigger	this	crisis	response	can	come
equally	outdated	ways	of	responding	to	it.
The	emotional	brain’s	imprecision	in	such	moments	is	added	to	by
the	fact	that	many	potent	emotional	memories	date	from	the	first	few
years	of	life,	in	the	relationship	between	an	infant	and	its	caretakers.
This	is	especially	true	for	traumatic	events,	like	beatings	or	outright
neglect.	During	this	early	period	of	life	other	brain	structures,


particularly	the	hippocampus,	which	is	crucial	for	narrative
memories,	and	the	neocortex,	seat	of	rational	thought,	have	yet	to
become	fully	developed.	In	memory,	the	amygdala	and	hippocampus
work	hand-in-hand;	each	stores	and	retrieves	its	special	information
independently.	While	the	hippocampus	retrieves	information,	the
amygdala	determines	if	that	information	has	any	emotional	valence.
But	the	amygdala,	which	matures	very	quickly	in	the	infant’s	brain,	is
much	closer	to	fully	formed	at	birth.
LeDoux	turns	to	the	role	of	the	amygdala	in	childhood	to	support
what	has	long	been	a	basic	tenet	of	psychoanalytic	thought:	that	the
interactions	of	life’s	earliest	years	lay	down	a	set	of	emotional	lessons
based	on	the	attunement	and	upsets	in	the	contacts	between	infant
and	caretakers.
9
	These	emotional	lessons	are	so	potent	and	yet	so
difficult	to	understand	from	the	vantage	point	of	adult	life	because,
believes	LeDoux,	they	are	stored	in	the	amygdala	as	rough,	wordless
blueprints	for	emotional	life.	Since	these	earliest	emotional	memories
are	established	at	a	time	before	infants	have	words	for	their
experience,	when	these	emotional	memories	are	triggered	in	later	life


experience,	when	these	emotional	memories	are	triggered	in	later	life
there	is	no	matching	set	of	articulated	thoughts	about	the	response
that	takes	us	over.	One	reason	we	can	be	so	baffled	by	our	emotional
outbursts,	then,	is	that	they	often	date	from	a	time	early	in	our	lives
when	things	were	bewildering	and	we	did	not	yet	have	words	for
comprehending	events.	We	may	have	the	chaotic	feelings,	but	not	the
words	for	the	memories	that	formed	them.
WHEN	EMOTIONS	ARE	FAST	AND	SLOPPY
It	was	somewhere	around	three	in	the	morning	when	a	huge	object
came	crashing	through	the	ceiling	in	a	far	corner	of	my	bedroom,
spilling	the	contents	of	the	attic	into	the	room.	In	a	second	I	leapt	out
of	bed	and	ran	out	of	the	room,	terrified	the	entire	ceiling	would	cave
in.	Then,	realizing	I	was	safe,	I	cautiously	peered	back	in	the	bedroom
to	see	what	had	caused	all	the	damage—only	to	discover	that	the
sound	I	had	taken	to	be	the	ceiling	caving	in	was	actually	the	fall	of	a
tall	pile	of	boxes	my	wife	had	stacked	in	the	corner
the	day	before
while	she	sorted	out	her	closet.	Nothing	had	fallen	from	the	attic:


there	was	no	attic.	The	ceiling	was	intact,	and	so	was	I.
My	leap	from	bed	while	half-asleep—which	might	have	saved	me
from	injury	had	it	truly	been	the	ceiling	falling—illustrates	the	power


of	the	amygdala	to	propel	us	to	action	in	emergencies,	vital	moments
before	the	neocortex	has	time	to	fully	register	what	is	actually	going
on.	The	emergency	route	from	eye	or	ear	to	thalamus	to	amygdala	is
crucial:	it	saves	time	in	an	emergency,	when	an	instantaneous
response	is	required.	But	this	circuit	from	thalamus	to	amygdala
carries	only	a	small	portion	of	sensory	messages,	with	the	majority
taking	the	main	route	up	to	the	neocortex.	So	what	registers	in	the
amygdala	via	this	express	route	is,	at	best,	a	rough	signal,	just	enough
for	a	warning.	As	LeDoux	points	out,	“You	don’t	need	to	know	exactly
what	something	is	to	know	that	it	may	be	dangerous.”
10
The	direct	route	has	a	vast	advantage	in	brain	time,	which	is
reckoned	in	thousandths	of	a	second.	The	amygdala	in	a	rat	can	begin
a	response	to	a	perception	in	as	little	as	twelve	milliseconds—twelve
thousandths	of	a	second.	The	route	from	thalamus	to	neocortex	to
amygdala	takes	about	twice	as	long.	Similar	measurements	have	yet
to	be	made	in	the	human	brain,	but	the	rough	ratio	would	likely	hold.
In	evolutionary	terms,	the	survival	value	of	this	direct	route	would
have	been	great,	allowing	a	quick-response	option	that	shaves	a	few


critical	milliseconds	in	reaction	time	to	dangers.	Those	milliseconds
could	well	have	saved	the	lives	of	our	protomammalian	ancestors	in
such	numbers	that	this	arrangement	is	now	featured	in	every
mammalian	brain,	including	yours	and	mine.	In	fact,	while	this	circuit
may	play	a	relatively	limited	role	in	human	mental	life,	largely
restricted	to	emotional	crises,	much	of	the	mental	life	of	birds,	fish,
and	reptiles	revolves	around	it,	since	their	very	survival	depends	on
constantly	scanning	for	predators	or	prey.	“This	primitive,	minor
brain	system	in	mammals	is	the	main	brain	system	in	non-mammals,”
says	LeDoux.	“It	offers	a	very	rapid	way	to	turn	on	emotions.	But	it’s	a
quick-and-dirty	process;	the	cells	are	fast,	but	not	very	precise.”
Such	imprecision	in,	say,	a	squirrel,	is	fine,	since	it	leads	to	erring
on	the	side	of	safety,	springing	away	at	the	first	sign	of	anything	that
might	signal	a	looming	enemy,	or	springing	toward	a	hint	of
something	edible.	But	in	human	emotional	life	that	imprecision	can
have	disastrous	consequences	for	our	relationships,	since	it	means,
figuratively	speaking,	we	can	spring	at	or	away	from	the	wrong	thing
—or	person.	(Consider,	for	example,	the	waitress	who	dropped	a	tray


of	six	dinners	when	she	glimpsed	a	woman	with	a	huge,
curly	mane	of
red	hair—exactly	like	the	woman	her	ex-husband	had	left	her	for.)
Such	inchoate	emotional	mistakes	are	based	on	feeling	prior	to
thought.	LeDoux	calls	it	“precognitive	emotion,”	a	reaction	based	on


neural	bits	and	pieces	of	sensory	information	that	have	not	been	fully
sorted	out	and	integrated	into	a	recognizable	object.	It’s	a	very	raw
form	of	sensory	information,	something	like	a	neural
Name	That	Tune
,
where,	instead	of	snap	judgments	of	melody	being	made	on	the	basis
of	just	a	few	notes,	a	whole	perception	is	grasped	on	the	basis	of	the
first	few	tentative	parts.	If	the	amygdala	senses	a	sensory	pattern	of
import	emerging,	it	jumps	to	a	conclusion,	triggering	its	reactions
before	there	is	full	confirming	evidence—or	any	confirmation	at	all.
Small	wonder	we	can	have	so	little	insight	into	the	murk	of	our
more	explosive	emotions,	especially	while	they	still	hold	us	in	thrall.
The	amygdala	can	react	in	a	delirium	of	rage	or	fear	before	the	cortex
knows	what	is	going	on	because	such	raw	emotion	is	triggered
independent	of,	and	prior	to,	thought.
THE	EMOTIONAL	MANAGER
A	friend’s	six-year-old	daughter	Jessica	was	spending	her	first	night
ever	sleeping	over	at	a	playmate’s,	and	it	was	unclear	who	was	more
nervous	about	it,	mother	or	daughter.	While	the	mother	tried	not	to
let	Jessica	see	the	intense	anxiety	she	felt,	her	tension	peaked	near


midnight	that	night,	as	she	was	getting	ready	for	bed	and	heard	the
phone	ring.	Dropping	her	toothbrush,	she	raced	to	the	phone,	her
heart	pounding,	images	of	Jessica	in	terrible	distress	racing	through
her	mind.
The	mother	snatched	the	receiver,	and	blurted,	“Jessica!”	into	the
phone—only	to	hear	a	woman’s	voice	say,	“Oh,	I	think	this	must	be	a
wrong	number.…”
At	that,	the	mother	recovered	her	composure,	and	in	a	polite,
measured	tone,	asked,	“What	number	were	you	calling?”
While	the	amygdala	is	at	work	in	priming	an	anxious,	impulsive
reaction,	another	part	of	the	emotional	brain	allows	for	a	more	fitting,
corrective	response.	The	brain’s	damper	switch	for	the	amygdala’s
surges	appears	to	lie	at	the	other	end	of	a	major	circuit	to	the
neocortex,	in	the	prefrontal	lobes	just	behind	the	forehead.	The
prefrontal	cortex	seems	to	be	at	work	when	someone	is	fearful	or
enraged,	but	stifles	or	controls	the	feeling	in	order	to
deal	more
effectively	with	the	situation	at	hand,	or	when	a	reappraisal	calls	for	a
completely	different	response,	as	with	the	worried	mother	on	the
phone.	This	neocortical	area	of	the	brain	brings	a	more	analytic	or


appropriate	response	to	our	emotional	impulses,	modulating	the
amygdala	and	other	limbic	areas.
Ordinarily	the	prefrontal	areas	govern	our	emotional	reactions	from
the	start.	The	largest	projection	of	sensory	information	from	the
thalamus,	remember,	goes	not	to	the	amygdala,	but	to	the	neocortex
and	its	many	centers	for	taking	in	and	making	sense	of	what	is	being
perceived;	that	information	and	our	response	to	it	is	coordinated	by
the	prefrontal	lobes,	the	seat	of	planning	and	organizing	actions
toward	a	goal,	including	emotional	ones.	In	the	neocortex	a	cascading
series	of	circuits	registers	and	analyzes	that	information,	comprehends
it,	and,	through	the	prefrontal	lobes,	orchestrates	a	reaction.	If	in	the
process	an	emotional	response	is	called	for,	the	prefrontal	lobes
dictate	it,	working	hand-in-hand	with	the	amygdala	and	other	circuits
in	the	emotional	brain.
This	progression,	which	allows	for	discernment	in	emotional
response,	is	the	standard	arrangement,	with	the	significant	exception
of	emotional	emergencies.	When	an	emotion	triggers,	within	moments
the	prefrontal	lobes	perform	what	amounts	to	a	risk/benefit	ratio	of
myriad	possible	reactions,	and	bet	that	one	of	them	is	best.
11
	For


11
	For
animals,	when	to	attack,	when	to	run.	And	for	we	humans	…	when	to
attack,	when	to	run—and	also,	when	to	placate,	persuade,	seek
sympathy,	stonewall,	provoke	guilt,	whine,	put	on	a	facade	of
bravado,	be	contemptuous—and	so	on,	through	the	whole	repertoire
of	emotional	wiles.
The	neocortical	response	is	slower	in	brain	time	than	the	hijack
mechanism	because	it	involves	more	circuitry.	It	can	also	be	more
judicious	and	considered,	since	more	thought	precedes	feeling.	When
we	register	a	loss	and	become	sad,	or	feel	happy	after	a	triumph,	or
mull	over	something	someone	has	said	or	done	and	then	get	hurt	or
angry,	the	neocortex	is	at	work.
Just	as	with	the	amygdala,	absent	the	workings	of	the	prefrontal
lobes,	much	of	emotional	life	would	fall	away;	lacking	an
understanding	that	something	merits	an	emotional	response,	none
comes.	This	role	of	the	prefrontal	lobes	in	emotions	has	been
suspected	by	neurologists	since	the	advent	in	the	1940s	of	that	rather
desperate—and	sadly	misguided—surgical	“cure”	for	mental	illness:
the	prefrontal	lobotomy,	which	(often	sloppily)	removed	part	of	the


prefrontal	lobes	or	otherwise	cut	connections	between	the	prefrontal
cortex	and	the	lower	brain.	In	the	days	before	any	effective
medications	for	mental	illness,	the	lobotomy	was	hailed	as	the	answer


to
grave	emotional	distress—sever	the	links	between	the	prefrontal
lobes	and	the	rest	of	the	brain,	and	patients’	distress	was	“relieved.”
Unfortunately,	the	cost	was	that	most	of	patients’	emotional	lives
seemed	to	vanish,	too.	The	key	circuitry	had	been	destroyed.
Emotional	hijackings	presumably	involve	two	dynamics:	triggering
of	the	amygdala	and	a	failure	to	activate	the	neocortical	processes
that	usually	keep	emotional	response	in	balance—or	a	recruitment	of
the	neocortical	zones	to	the	emotional	urgency.
12
	At	these	moments
the	rational	mind	is	swamped	by	the	emotional.	One	way	the
prefrontal	cortex	acts	as	an	efficient	manager	of	emotion—weighing
reactions	before	acting—is	by	dampening	the	signals	for	activation
sent	out	by	the	amygdala	and	other	limbic	centers—something	like	a
parent	who	stops	an	impulsive	child	from	grabbing	and	tells	the	child
to	ask	properly	(or	wait)	for	what	it	wants	instead.
13
The	key	“off”	switch	for	distressing	emotion	seems	to	be	the	left
prefrontal	lobe.	Neuropsychologists	studying	moods	in	patients	with
injuries	to	parts	of	the	frontal	lobes	have	determined	that	one	of	the
tasks	of	the	left	frontal	lobe	is	to	act	as	a	neural	thermostat,	regulating


unpleasant	emotions.	The	right	prefrontal	lobes	are	a	seat	of	negative
feelings	like	fear	and	aggression,	while	the	left	lobes	keep	those	raw
emotions	in	check,	probably	by	inhibiting	the	right	lobe.
14
	In	one
group	of	stroke	patients,	for	example,	those	whose	lesions	were	in	the
left	prefrontal	cortex	were	prone	to	catastrophic	worries	and	fears;
those	with	lesions	on	the	right	were	“unduly	cheerful”;	during
neurological	exams	they	joked	around	and	were	so	laid	back	they
clearly	did	not	care	how	well	they	did.
15
	And	then	there	was	the	case
of	the	happy	husband:	a	man	whose	right	prefrontal	lobe	had	been
partially	removed	in	surgery	for	a	brain	malformation.	His	wife	told
physicians	that	after	the	operation	he	underwent	a	dramatic
personality	change,	becoming	less	easily	upset	and,	she	was	happy	to
say,	more	affectionate.
16
The	left	prefrontal	lobe,	in	short,	seems	to	be	part	of	a	neural	circuit
that	can	switch	off,	or	at	least	dampen	down,	all	but	the	strongest
negative	surges	of	emotion.	If	the	amygdala	often	acts	as	an
emergency	trigger,	the	left	prefrontal	lobe	appears	to	be	part	of	the


emergency	trigger,	the	left	prefrontal	lobe	appears	to	be	part	of	the
brain’s	“off”	switch	for	disturbing	emotion:	the	amygdala	proposes,
the	prefrontal	lobe	disposes.	These	prefrontal-limbic	connections	are
crucial	in	mental	life	far	beyond	fine-tuning	emotion;	they	are
essential	for	navigating	us	through	the	decisions	that	matter	most	in
life.


HARMONIZING	EMOTION	AND	THOUGHT
The	connections	between	the	amygdala	(and	related	limbic	structures)
and	the	neocortex	are	the	hub	of	the	battles	or	cooperative	treaties
struck	between	head	and	heart,	thought	and	feeling.	This	circuitry
explains	why	emotion	is	so	crucial	to	effective	thought,	both	in
making	wise	decisions	and	in	simply	allowing	us	to	think	clearly.
Take	the	power	of	emotions	to	disrupt	thinking	itself.
Neuroscientists	use	the	term	“working	memory”	for	the	capacity	of
attention	that	holds	in	mind	the	facts	essential	for	completing	a	given
task	or	problem,	whether	it	be	the	ideal	features	one	seeks	in	a	house
while	touring	several	prospects,	or	the	elements	of	a	reasoning
problem	on	a	test.	The	prefrontal	cortex	is	the	brain	region
responsible	for	working	memory.
17
	But	circuits	from	the	limbic	brain
to	the	prefrontal	lobes	mean	that	the	signals	of	strong	emotion—
anxiety,	anger,	and	the	like—can	create	neural	static,	sabotaging	the
ability	of	the	prefrontal	lobe	to	maintain	working	memory.	That	is
why	when	we	are	emotionally	upset	we	say	we	“just	can’t	think
straight”—and	why	continual	emotional	distress	can	create	deficits	in
a	child’s	intellectual	abilities,	crippling	the	capacity	to	learn.


These	deficits,	if	more	subtle,	are	not	always	tapped	by	IQ	testing,
though	they	show	up	through	more	targeted	neuropsychological
measures,	as	well	as	in	a	child’s	continual	agitation	and	impulsivity.
In	one	study,	for	example,	primary	school	boys	who	had	above-
average	IQ	scores	but	nevertheless	were	doing	poorly	in	school	were
found	via	these	neuropsychological	tests	to	have	impaired	frontal
cortex	functioning.
18
	They	also	were	impulsive	and	anxious,	often
disruptive	and	in	trouble—suggesting	faulty	prefrontal	control	over
their	limbic	urges.	Despite	their	intellectual	potential,	these	are	the
children	at	highest	risk	for	problems	like	academic	failure,	alcoholism,
and	criminality—not	because	their	intellect	is	deficient,	but	because
their	control	over	their	emotional	life	is	impaired.	The	emotional
brain,	quite	separate	from	those	cortical	areas	tapped	by	IQ	tests,
controls	rage	and	compassion	alike.	These	emotional	circuits	are
sculpted	by	experience	throughout	childhood—and	we	leave	those
experiences	utterly	to	chance	at	our	peril.
Consider,	too,	the	role	of	emotions	in	even	the	most	“rational”
decision-making.	In	work	with	far-reaching	implications	for


decision-making.	In	work	with	far-reaching	implications	for
understanding	mental	life,	Dr.	Antonio	Damasio,	a	neurologist	at	the
University	of	Iowa	College	of	Medicine,	has	made	careful	studies	of


just	what	is	impaired	in	patients	with	damage	to	the	prefrontal-
amygdala	circuit.
19
	Their	decision-making	is	terribly	flawed—and	yet
they	show	no	deterioration	at	all	in	IQ	or	any	cognitive
ability.
Despite	their	intact	intelligence,	they	make	disastrous	choices	in
business	and	their	personal	lives,	and	can	even	obsess	endlessly	over	a
decision	so	simple	as	when	to	make	an	appointment.
Dr.	Damasio	argues	that	their	decisions	are	so	bad	because	they
have	lost	access	to	their
emotional
	learning.	As	the	meeting	point
between	thought	and	emotion,	the	prefrontal-amygdala	circuit	is	a
crucial	doorway	to	the	repository	for	the	likes	and	dislikes	we	acquire
over	the	course	of	a	lifetime.	Cut	off	from	emotional	memory	in	the
amygdala,	whatever	the	neocortex	mulls	over	no	longer	triggers	the
emotional	reactions	that	have	been	associated	with	it	in	the	past—
everything	takes	on	a	gray	neutrality.	A	stimulus,	be	it	a	favorite	pet
or	a	detested	acquaintance,	no	longer	triggers	either	attraction	or
aversion;	these	patients	have	“forgotten”	all	such	emotional	lessons
because	they	no	longer	have	access	to	where	they	are	stored	in	the
amygdala.
Evidence	like	this	leads	Dr.	Damasio	to	the	counter-intuitive
position	that	feelings	are	typically