with another person, may be enough to change the underlying narrative, confront the source of negative feelings, and in so doing, open the doors for healing.
Whether for harm or for good, it’s important to recognize stories for what they are: ways to assess a situation, in order to predict possible outcomes. Through fiction, we can run through simulations of what might be, whether it’s fiction of our own invention or the fiction we pay to enjoy as entertainment. Stories are hardwired—biologically—to this deeper need for survival. So, this “stories as survival mechanism” is the popular “story” (see what we did there!), but is there more? Let’s delve a bit into the neuroscience behind narrative.
Explanation #2: Stories Engage More Parts of the Brain
As you’d expect, a number of fMRI studies have looked at brain activity in response to different kinds of narratives. What these studies reveal is that stories engage more parts of the brain. If we state facts in neutral terms, only a few areas of the brain—those typically associated with language processing— light up. When we wrap the facts in a narrative and use evocative words, many more parts of the brain light up.17
Accordingly, the more active the brain is (that is, the more parts of the brain being activated), the more we are engaged in the moment and likely to find that thing memorable. And if the story is at all emotional, we’re even more likely to recall these events later. This goes a long way toward explaining why narratives get our attention. I can state a fact, that “snakes are venomous,” but if instead I describe how “a snakebite is like fire coursing through your veins, and I should know, because once upon a time, while visiting my aunt in New York we took a trip to the Statue of Liberty, where....” Your brain can’t help but pay attention. The story and the metaphors invoke all of these associated sensory images. Sticking to the facts of a thing means fewer areas of the brain are active, while engaging more areas of the brain seems to correlate—the current belief—with attention. This alone is a reason to include stories in a book about understanding: to the extent that a narrative can grab and hold a person’s attention, and then help them—by association—make complex information accessible (via the lens of the narrative), that is powerful. This should also lend some scientific credence to the writer’s mantra of “show, don’t tell.”
FACT OR FICTION, IT DOESN’T MATTER
So then, stories arouse attention by invoking more areas of the brain. Got it. Here’s where things get really interesting. Whether we are in the moment, or watching a movie, the same specific regions of our brain light up in these fMRI studies. I could be walking in the rain, or simply reading about a walk in the rain—it doesn’t make a difference; the very same areas of the brain are stimulated. The degree of intensity is less with these imagined situations, but researchers observe the same neural changes whether you read about something or actually do that something.
This has been noted in studies involving smell, texture, motor movement, and more. Most of the studies focus on single words; more recent studies have had subjects read passages from a story. In these cases, someone may read about eating breakfast, or actually eat breakfast—the same areas of the brain are activated. The studies conclude that “readers understand a story by simulating the events in the story world and updating their simulation when features of that world change.”18
Where this is more interesting is when people are involved. There seems to be a significant overlap between the regions of the brain associated with narrative comprehension and the regions associated with social cognition.19 In a quantitative meta-analysis of neuroimaging studies pertaining to theory of mind (the ability to infer the mental states of others), Raymond Mar, a psychologist at York University in Canada, found that the core networks involved with trying to figure out the thoughts and feelings of others were also activated by stories.
This might lead us to conclude, as did The New York Times article “Your Brain on Fiction,” that:
There is evidence that just as the brain responds to depictions of smells and textures and movements as if they were the real thing, so it treats the interactions among fictional characters as something like real-life social encounters.20
Given this information, when an expert on stories such as Lisa Cron remarks (in her TEDx talk) that “You’re not just reading about Jane Eyre. You Are Jane Eyre ...,” she’s right, cognitively speaking. If we conclude that it is a thin line between a lived experience and being present in a story, then all stories become worthy of serious consideration. This only strengthens the notion that stories shape who we are. And they’re a powerful way to manage the cost of understanding, whether used as a lens to view some information, or used to develop the social bonds needed to bring people together, to figure something out.
Seeming to support this assertion, research led by Dr. Keith Oatley, a professor emeritus of the University of Toronto Department of Applied Psychology and Human Development, has found that reading fiction increases empathy.21 Through fictional stories, we improve our ability to understand other people, empathize with them, and imagine ourselves in another’s situation. If we connect what we see with regions of the brain lighting up during reading, with the previous comments on narratives as a survival mechanism, then reading fiction allows us to safely explore different kinds of social interactions. Research in this direction quickly veers back to discussions of theory of mind, which, to offer up a more precise explanation, is “the ability to attribute mental states—beliefs, intents, desires, emotions, knowledge, etc.—to oneself, and to others, and to understand that others have beliefs, desires, intentions, and perspectives that are different from one’s own.” Theory of mind is, as you’d expect, critical to everyday human social interactions.
Which is a nice transition to the more recent argument for why stories are so powerful: It’s all about the characters.
Explanation #3: Stories Are Critical to Social Bonds
The most recent research into narratives has focused on a neurochemical called oxytocin, associated with feelings of trust. When we are trusted or shown a kindness, the brain produces oxytocin. This signals “it is safe to approach others.” Accordingly, oxytocin is critical to cooperation in groups.
So what does this have to do with narratives? While we can dwell on different kinds of narratives, conflicts, plot twists, and so on, it seems what the brain cares most about are characters, especially our hero. We are wired to pay attention to the thoughts and feelings of the protagonist.
According to Paul J. Zak, Ph.D., who has led much of the research into this topic:
It seems that once we are attentive and emotionally engaged, our brains go into mimic mode and mirror the behaviors that the characters in the story are doing or might do. As social creatures we are biased toward engaging with others, and effective stories motivate us to help others ...
To the brain, good stories are good stories, whether first-person or third-person, on topics happy or sad, as long as they get us to care about their characters.22
In reading, or sometimes watching, these stories, we quite literally identify with the characters. We experience an empathy that is every bit as real as what we experience when interacting with others.
Stories and Understanding
So what do we do with all this? What role do stories and narrative play in our broader purpose—understanding?
As social creatures, the pull toward
