My doctoral work focused heavily on trying to understand individual’s utility functions. That’s a fancy pants way of saying that I was trying to put numbers on what made people more or less happy. My friend George, who was an undergrad at the time and an outstanding poet, completed one of my surveys. His responses indicated something pretty wise: he’d rather not be happy *all* the time because his best poetry seemed to flow when he was at least a little blue. In other words, seriously sad was low on his list, but unrelenting bliss wasn’t at the top.
So I read with interest Jonah Lehrer’s debut piece in The New York Times Magazine speculates on whether depression – from which a non-trivial chunk of the population grapples – offers some sort of selection advantage. The evidence is circumstantial but real: a nagging prevalence, heritability, and at least in its mildest forms some cognitive benefits.
Say what? Mmm hmm. Depression — at least in sub-lethal doses — appears to help us increase the ability to focus on tough problems (and crack the more complicated ones), makes us better judges of the accuracy of rumors, improves our ability to remember events, and decreases the chance that we stereotype strangers. It may be true that, just as my pal George thought, a little bit of blue can be of some practical use.
And apparently the arrow between depression and some cognitive abilities points both ways. Take Lehrer’s description of a study on the connection between depressed mode and puzzle-solving performance:
This line of research led Andrews to conduct his own experiment, as he sought to better understand the link between negative mood and improved analytical abilities. He gave 115 undergraduates an abstract-reasoning test known as Raven’s Progressive Matrices, which requires subjects to identify a missing segment in a larger pattern. (Performance on the task strongly predicts general intelligence.) The first thing Andrews found was that nondepressed students showed an increase in “depressed affect” after taking the test. In other words, the mere presence of a challenging problem — even an abstract puzzle — induced a kind of attentive trance, which led to feelings of sadness. It doesn’t matter if we’re working on a mathematical equation or working through a broken heart: the anatomy of focus is inseparable from the anatomy of melancholy.
This hardly means that depression is good, and in its most severe forms, there’s nothing good about it at all. But it may very well be that a little melancholy is a means to a better end… at least for problems that can be addressed by rumination and focused attention.
