Why Neuromyths Persist
By Sharlene Zeederberg
Recently I wrote an article on the myth of hemispheric dominance. This is the erroneous, yet oft cited claim that how you think, and who you are, relates to one side of your brain being more dominant than the other. Despite the overwhelming evidence that this is not true, I still got quite a lot of push back. People, it appears, are somewhat attached to this neuromyth.
It raises an interesting question — why do myths persist, even when there is good evidence to assign them to the rubbish tip?
Brain myths are misconceptions about the brain and how it works. There are a multitude of brain myths around. Things like -
· You only use 10% of your brain.
· Men and women have different brains.
· You have a dominant hemisphere that influences what type of thinker you are.
· Children learn better if the material is presented in their preferred learning style.
· Intelligence is correlated with brain size.
· Stimulus rich environments improve the brains of pre-school children.
All of these statements are false, but if you thought any of the above were true, you are not alone.
A survey in the United States showed that, on average, about two thirds of people endorse a variety of classical neuromyths, much like the ones outlined above, as true. Some are particularly well entrenched. Nearly all people believe that individuals learn better if the material is presented in their preferred learning style. About six in ten believe that listening to classical music enhances a child’s reasoning ability. A similar number of people buy into the myth that how you think, whether you are creative or logical for example, relates to whether you are left or right brain dominant. Evidence does not support these notions.
Where do neuromyths come from?
Neuromyths have their roots in neuroscience research findings that are misinterpreted, inaccurate or distorted.
Some neuromyths spring out of outdated scientific hypotheses. Science is a process of observing, hypothesizing, and testing. Hypotheses are developed, tested and then either discarded or built upon. What we know about the world changes as we gather more evidence through scientific rigour and replication. For example, the right/left brain dominance myth may have its origins in research with split brain patients, but subsequent research has increased our understanding of how the brain works, and shown that healthy brains have deeply interconnected hemispheres that work together almost instantly, and how you think is not related to one side being more dominant than the other.
Other myths emerge from misinterpreting experimental results, or from over-extending scientific claims beyond the boundaries of the experiment. This is the case with the so-called Mozart effect — the claim that listening to classical music can increase a child’s IQ scores. The original study was not done with children, and the effect was only noticed in spatial reasoning. Nonetheless, the sensationalist claim that listening to classical music increases your IQ score led to government mandated directives that childcare settings should play classical music to their wards, and taxpayer money was directed to procuring and distributing classical music CDs for newborns. Not only was the claim an over-extension of the research, but it has also subsequently been debunked. Nonetheless, products based on the Mozart effect are still marketed and packaged up for sale under the guise of neuroscience.
Over-generalising scientific claims seems particularly prevalent in the marketing of so-called brain enhancing products and programmes, such as brain training games. For example, whilst playing a particular game may well improve your performance in that specific task, this does not mean you will remember where you left your car keys, or that it will stave off broader cognitive decline. And in fact, there is limited supporting evidence for the usefulness of brain training beyond the task being trained on itself. Nonetheless money is spent advertising broad claims that brain training improves your memory, and people pay good money for these products daily.
The role of media
Neuromyths are effectively a disconnect between what the science currently says and what people believe.
Facts about the brain come into popular awareness through media stories. Research indicates that people who read popular science media are more likely to believe neuromyths, compared to those who read scientific journals.
Media stories about the brain are often headlined with sensationalised claims that may distort the content and findings of the research being promoted. Fitting the complex and layered nature of our understanding about the brain into a sound bite is close to impossible. But dramatic headlines or massaged conclusions about what the research means can lead to misunderstandings and the spreading of myths — as was the case for the Mozart effect.
It seems then that media plays a special role in perpetuating misunderstandings about the brain. Still, people don’t automatically believe everything they read on the internet or in the popular press, yet neuromyths are remarkably persistent.
Why do people continue to believe them?
There are several interrelated factors that may influence why myths about the brain endure in public consciousness — cognitive bias, the desire to take action, the (false) security provided by “backed by science” claims, and their sheer prevalence across social media and marketing channels.
The evaluation of neuromyths suffer from the same cognitive biases that plague all our thinking.
Some neuromyths may feel intuitively correct. As an example, men and women are different, thus it makes sense that they would have different brains (but they don’t). Daniel Kahneman and colleagues posit that when people arrive at an intuitive conclusion which feels right, there is no need for further thinking about the issue. In support of this, research indicates that teachers who endorse neuromyths are more confident about their answers than those who do not.
Confirmation bias also plays a role. Confirmation bias is our natural pattern of seeking out confirming, rather than disconfirming evidence. People who hold strong beliefs, or desires, will actively seek evidence in support of them. This may include relying on anecdotes or personal observations, rather than rational or scientific arguments. Further, the very nature of science and discovery means there are research papers in the world that can seem to support a particular view. Without training in how to evaluate the weight of evidence, the pitfalls of over-generalising from a single source of information, and the dangers of cherry-picking studies, it is easy to see how people might feel some neuromyths must be factual.
People also seem particularly beguiled by so called neuro-evidence, and “based on science” proclamations, using such claims as a short cut for credibility, without investigating what the claimed evidence actually is.
As an example, research shows that people think less critically in the face of supposed neuro-evidence. A story that includes the image of a brain, even when that image is superfluous or unrelated to the topic being presented, increases perceptions of credibility. Other research shows that including a neuroscience explanation, again even when incorrect or irrelevant, gives credibility to what would otherwise be seen as an inadequate explanation.
Marketers of all manner of education and training programmes, supplements and drinks use “scientifically tested” or “created by neuroscientists” as a basis for trustworthiness. It is unlikely that people look beyond these claims into the science, nor is it likely that the average person has the skills to decode and evaluate the validity of the science supporting the product offer. Instead, if people are looking for solutions to, for example, stave off memory decline, they may latch on to brain training products in the hope that they work, trusting that science says they do. Hope itself, along with the desire to act, may drive a persistent belief in a neuromyth.
And finally, the frequency of communication and advertising for applications based on neuromyths across social media and the internet lends them a degree of validity by playing on another cognitive bias known as the availability bias.
Type brain training into an online search bar, and you’ll get millions (and millions) of hits. Apps, courses, book recommendations, adverts for brain-based products. The sheer prevalence of products and communication based on this search perhaps give it a credence it shouldn’t have. And the same is true for many of the other classical neuromyths. The media and marketing landscape is noisy and cluttered with neuromyths and dubious neuro-claims, actively crafted to grab our attention and convince us of their merit. They have more presence than neuro-facts, are more easily searched for and brought to mind and, because of this mental availability, are perhaps more easily recalled and believed.
Does it matter?
Neuroscience is of course not the only arena where myths propagate.
Does it matter if you play a brain game or drink a brain drink which doesn’t really do what it says? Is there any harm in making your child sit through reams of Mozart? It does if it is at the expense of more effective activities. If, in doing something else, you can achieve a better result.
Within the world of education, millions of dollars and hundreds of hours are spent on programmes and products that are built on neuromyths — applications like VAK (visual, auditory and kinaesthetic) training which themselves have been shown to be ineffectual. This represents a colossal waste of time and money, and more importantly, opportunity. Time and money which could be better spent on programmes which are effective.
Moreover, the promotion of products and programmes based on neuromyths themselves perpetuate the neuromyths, taking up space in our heads and hindering the acquisition of up to date and factual information about the brain, how it works, and how to optimise its function.
We’ve moved into the era of the brain. #Neuro is all the rave. There is perhaps much opportunity in applying neuroscience to improve learning and health outcomes. But it matters that the applications or products are actually effective. Lingering neuromyths may undermine the search for, and use of, more effective techniques. Likewise, the cynical use of “science” as evidence for mass marketed products undermines the value of and trust in science itself. The danger of persistent neuromyths, and our willingness to accept them, is that they undermine the rich promise neuroscience offers to improve our lives.
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