Brainjacking (eBook)

Biologists don’t like admitting to human exceptionalism – the idea that we have a special place in nature, quite distinct from other animals. But I would argue that this attitude is because they are too close to their subject. Admittedly, in one sense they are perfectly right. We are, after all, not unique in being either a mammal or a great ape. Yet looking at our ability to produce technology, to develop sophisticated cultures and to transform the environment (for good and bad alike), it is surely perverse to suggest that Homo sapiens is not in some sense special.

What makes us unique?

There has been plenty of argument about what makes us seemingly unique among the animals. In his book Consciousness, English biologist John Parrington, based at Oxford University, suggests that there are three factors that enable us to stand out. These are our use of language, the way that our deployment of tools and technology has enabled us to radically transform our environment, and the fact that we have a uniquely complex brain structure. For me, these all come together in one clear and distinctive aspect of human behaviour – and it provides the foundations for brainjacking. We are storytellers.

In How Life Works, science writer Philip Ball notes: ‘One of our attributes that most distinguishes us from other animals is our construction of complex cultures, which rely critically on systems and technologies for passing on information and learning – and thus causal influence – between generations through means other than genes.’ Arguably, the most important system here is storytelling.

American lecturer in English Jonathan Gottschall refers to us not as Homo sapiens, but Homo fictus – ‘the great ape with the storytelling mind’. He points out that children don’t have to be trained in what stories are – they are inherently part of being human. He notes: ‘Children don’t need to be tutored in story. We don’t need to bribe them to make stories like we bribe them to eat broccoli. For children, make-believe is as automatic and insuppressible as dreams.’

Strictly speaking, not all use of story is brainjacking. One of the ways we stand out from other animals is as a result of our internal storytelling. Rather than live our lives primarily in the moment, we are constantly telling ourselves the small stories that are responses to questions such as ‘What if?’ and to the deployment of ‘How?’ or ‘Why?’ or ‘What?’. Questions like:

This internal ability to ask ourselves questions that each in turn can generate small stories of what might be and how things might be achieved gives us the ability to plan, to consider future risks and opportunities, and to act accordingly. However, the additional leverage that arises from storytelling that has propelled the human race to a new level is when the stories are passed from person to person, changing human brains in the process. It’s in this process that brainjacking began.

You may by now be thinking that I’ve gone totally over the top. Perhaps storytelling brings to mind sitting on the floor as a child while an adult reads a book. Or, dare I say it, those arty storytellers who bang on about keeping the oral tradition alive that you find at folk festivals and eisteddfods. And that is one version of storytelling – the oldest version that involves simply standing in front of people and talking at them, which developed into oratory and political discourse. But combined with technology, storytelling has become far more. It gives us art and music. It gives us education and books, film and TV, and all the wonders of the internet.

In a sense it’s obvious that story in the broad sense has an impact on our minds. I read something and remember it. I see an advertisement and buy a product. I attend a political rally and the speeches encourage me to vote a certain way. But Jonathan Gottschall points out that from the second half of the twentieth century there has been a significant amount of research to back up the common-sense premise that story moulds our minds. As he puts it: ‘Research shows that story is constantly nibbling and kneading us, shaping our minds without our knowledge or consent. The more deeply we are cast under story’s spell, the more potent its influence.’

Gottschall notes that it is not just non-fiction that we learn from; we are shaped by fiction, whether or not it reflects reality. As an example, in my spare time I write murder mysteries: police procedurals. These contain a fair amount of detail of what police officers do in their line of work. But I had to admit to a book group asking how I’d researched my books that I’ve only twice been in a police station and have rarely done any research. Almost all my understanding of police procedure is taken from fiction, with a small amount from popular science, where the work overlaps with, say, pathology – and usually I can get away with it.

Gottschall tells us that Tolstoy thought that his job, the job of an artist, was to ‘infect his audience with his own ideas and emotions’ far more than to inform: Tolstoy clearly saw it as influencing and manipulating. Gottschall goes on relate how a study has shown that ‘scary stories leave scars’ – and fiction is more likely to do so than real-world horrors. Like me, you may sympathise with this view. I remember being terrified when young by a book featuring a comic-strip monstrosity called a caltrop. I was convinced that one lived on the dark corner of my grandmother’s staircase, and I would rush past the corner with my eyes closed.

From the storytelling coal face

Let’s get some assistance in pulling apart the concept of storytelling to see how it can have such an effect. Roger Ashton-Griffiths has a doctorate in creative writing from the University of East Anglia. He has also been an opera singer and an actor. If you are a Game of Thrones fan, you would recognise him as Mace Tyrell, though he has appeared in everything from Hollywood blockbusters to Doctor Who and Coronation Street.

I met Roger ten years ago when we were both on the Lancaster University team for the TV show Christmas University Challenge – we will be meeting the other team members later in the book. All four of us are professional storytellers, but each in a very different way. Before finding out more about the nature of story from Roger, though, let’s take a step back for a moment and notice the gentle brainjacking that took place over the last few paragraphs.

The mere fact that you are reading this book gives me a small amount of ability to impact the workings of your brain. Even if you never consciously revisit the topics covered here, apparently forgetting everything you read, some remnants of the ideas from the book will remain, insidiously lurking in your brain. When something relevant comes up, those fragments will be there, even if you don’t directly recall them, contributing to the way that your brain deals with the issue. That is just the standard, base level of brainjacking associated with any book, whether it be fiction or non-fiction.

But a couple of paragraphs back, I also indulged in some more targeted work on your brain. By noting that Roger has a relevant doctorate, I potentially gave his opinion a little more weight. Even though we live in an age when experts are not awarded as much importance and respect as they once were, it may have had a small influence. And, as film and TV are very much part of the storytelling family, Roger’s experience of those gives an additional degree of weight. If you happen to be a Game of Thrones fan, we’ve got some extra interest from a familiar character. And this is potentially important because personal interest and emotion are key tools in amplifying the effectiveness of brainjacking.

Even if you have never watched Game of Thrones, there is still the potential to gain a little extra traction from that association, because almost everyone has at least heard of the show. In essence, my brief introduction to who Roger is provides both simple storytelling in its own right, and also an intentional piece of brainjacking to prepare you for his responses.

Storytelling as preparation for life

I started by asking Roger what ‘story’ is. He told me: ‘My unsubstantiated opinion about what the arts in general and storytelling in particular is, is about ways of preparing for life. In the sense that you’re imagining situations that you either have not or are unlikely to encounter, and that you do so by putting yourself in imaginative space to rehearse this.’

He went on: ‘You’re aware, I’m sure, of Booker’s book about story structure:* he defines seven basic plots. It all arises because you have a bit of a problem, and you work out how to solve it, then you solve it, and you get the princess in the castle, and you live happily ever after. I can see stories as a means of rehearsing life’s situations. It’s like when you come into the house and you’ve got to remember the code for your alarm, and you think about it before you go in – you go, “Whoa, the code is that,” and when you go in, you can press it. Storytelling has that kind of...