The Laughing Baby in 14 quotes

Each chapter of my book The Laughing Baby starts with a short quote or epigram. I was very pleased with these and so a few years ago I posted them all as a thread on Twitter (remember Twitter?). They give a nice summary of the book so I’ve recreated the list here. Enjoy.


“Babies are such a nice way to start people”

Don Herold

Even Hamlet wouldn’t disagree with that.

Chapter One: A Time Before Smiles

JM Barrie might be right about fairies. Although the scientific evidence is limited. And if there was a time before smiles it was a long time ago.

Chapter Two: Happy Birthday.

“The first thing newborn babies do is cry because their parents haven’t bothered to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to them.”

It’s funny, but is it true? What did you do at the birth of yours?

Chapter Three: The Simple Pleasures.

A quote from the short and wonderful book Making Babies by Irish writer Anne Enright.

Chapter Four: SLEEP!?

A lyrical quote from Bengali Nobel Prizewinner Rabindranath Tagore. Most of his observations of babies were rose-tinted. One gets the sense that, even though Tagore had five children, someone else was usually left holding the baby.

Chapter Five: First Touch

“Never miss an opportunity to hold a baby”

Mary Ainsworth.

Advice on infant bonding from Mary Ainsworth is like advice on chess from Gary Kasparov. Just do it, OK?

Chapter Six: Tickling, Tumbling and Toe-Nibbling.

This chapter starts off with rats, Elmo and the worlds most ancient joke. It finishes trying to vanquish Cartesian dualism. I wasn’t expecting to have two chapters on touch. It must be the influence of my old boss Andy Bremner.


Chapter Seven: The Joys of Toys

Is all about what babies learn from all the playing they do. And along the way, it tells the story of what happened when Cheltenham Science Festival asked me to put on a science show for an audience of babies.

Chapter Eight: Surprise!

“The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity”

Ellen Parr (not Dorothy Parker as some people might tell you.)

“Babies love surprises. Except when they don’t.”

Me (I was quite pleased with that line so hopefully it’s original.)
This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is image-8-776x1024.jpeg

Chapter Nine: Laugh and the World Laughs with You.

“Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.”

Victor Borge

The heart of the book and the best quote on what laughter really means.

Chapter Ten: The Sound of Happy

This one’s all about music. It includes a strong argument that baby opera was the first art form, some drumming from Sinead Rocha and narrates the tale of how Lauren Stewart and I helped Imogen Heap create The Happy Song.

Chapter Eleven: Happy Talk

Haiku #2107 from Calvin Olsen’s Ten Thousand Haiku The birth of words including some of my own research with Denis Mareschal and Bob French.
Oh & by the way..
Yay – Nim Chimpsky
Boo – Noam Chomsky

Chapter Twelve: Yes, No, Maybe, Baby

All about the concepts you can build once you have language. The theory gets a bit abstract as we end up interrogating Wittgenstein (early AND late). But the experiments are quite straightforward. Even a baby would understand them.

Chapter Thirteen: Friends.

I had wanted to quote lyrics from the Friends theme tune but you wouldn’t believe how expensive that would have been. Waay more than the £70 we paid using those 12 words of Wittgenstein in the previous chapter.
So I went with Anon.
Good ol’ Anon.


Epilogue: Laughing Matters.

We made it. Let’s celebrate with a “poem” by me. You can see me “perform” it here at TEDx Bratislava in 2017. The first time I came on stage my mic was turned off so I had perform it twice. Hence the big cheer.

The poem later became the basis for the text of Babies Laugh at Everything.

Congratulations on making it all the way to the end of this post. If you’d like to buy the book, then follow the links on this page. If you’d like to buy a signed copy, drop me an email.

Soprano Lucy Knight performs in Musical Rumpus's Opera for Babies - Fogonogo.

Baby opera was humanity’s first art form.

For all sorts of reasons opera – even comic opera – is usually no laughing matter.

Tom Sutcliffe, Believing in Opera, 1997

Ask any professional musician the secret of good music and they will tell you that above all else, music is about emotion. This perhaps particularly true of opera, where the main instrument is the human voice and the main topic the human condition. Through music and drama, story and spectacle, opera aims to explore the highs and lows of life. Anger, joy, love, grief, jealousy and despair are all portrayed in exuberant spectacle. Richard Mantle, director of Opera North, calls it ‘the art form that comes closest to expressing pure emotion’. Writer George Bernard Shaw said, ‘Opera is when a soprano and a tenor want to make love but are prevented from doing so by a baritone.’ Opera is deliberately intense and emotionally manipulative, although, as arts broadcaster Tom Sutcliffe observes, opera does not do comedy well. The pressure is too great and the stakes are too high.

Opera is technically, logistically and economically forbidding. Many fans of opera are unapologetic that it is the most extreme example of human art. Oliver Mears, director of opera at the Royal Opera in London thinks that ‘opera is important because it is totally unfeasible’. He adds that ‘in scale and cost it is the most excessive of all art forms, and in the totality of its artistic claims, is the most ambitious’. It is surprising then to learn not only that people make opera for babies, but that baby opera might have been the birth of all human art.

Musical Rumpus have been making operas for audiences of babies since 2011. Supported by the Spitalfields Music charity, their shows have been seen by around 15,000 babies in east London and beyond. I knew about them, but for a long time I had no idea what was involved. When I stumbled into the world of baby music myself, I decided it was time to find out. I know nothing about opera, so I took along my friend Sam Wass who, prior to becoming a baby scientist, was an opera director in Berlin. The last time I had been to anything resembling opera was a school trip to see Gilbert and Sullivan’s Pirates of Penzance when I was twelve. My two abiding memories were that yes, indeed, comic opera is no laughing matter and that despite it being incredibly loud, I fell asleep. Therefore, even though it was opera for babies, I felt a bit intimidated and was glad Sam was there for moral support and to poke me if l looked drowsy.

Sam and I joined the tiny audience for Musical Rumpus’s latest show, Fogonogo, an opera about a volcano. It was the eighth show the company have created and the seventh collaboration between composer Sam Glazer and writer and director Zoe Palmer. Just like grown-up opera, baby opera is a full multimedia experience, with set, staging, costumes and orchestra, albeit on a much smaller scale, as the budgets and the subsidies are as diminutive as the audience. The cast consists of just two singers – we saw a performance by Lucy Knight, a soprano, and Peter Braithwaite, a baritone. The orchestra on this occasion had two musicians: Sam Glazer played the cello, accompanied by Rosie Bergonzi, a percussionist. The venue was modest too, one panelled-off corner of the public library in Stratford, east London. Buggies were parked and babies and their carers all found places to sit. The audience was small in number – around 20 babies, although previous shows have had as many as 50 babies, and then it really is a rumpus.

Musical Rumpus perform Fogonogo, in Stratford, East London, 2017

The numbers are usually kept low because the shows are intimate and interactive. In the show we saw, babies were seated in circle around some blue mats representing the sea, with small orange platforms as islands. From the start the performers were down on the babies’ level, moving gently, and sensitive to their reactions. The babies are mostly content to sit and watch, but there are always several infant actors wandering into the performance and handing props to the performers. But even the babies content to stay sitting with mummy or daddy are not left out; the performers take care to connect with every little person in the audience. The babies are part of the show: Zoe calls them ‘our gurgling, wriggling, crawling, chorus’ and their responses are incorporated into the performance. It means no two shows are the same, and this can be quite daunting for classically trained musicians. Zoe told me about working on a baby show with jazz singers in New York. They ‘got it’ much faster, happy to improvise around their infant accompaniment.

Fogonogo starts slowly, but the intensity builds. This is a show about a volcano, after all. Sam Glazer is very conscious that baby opera should explore the full range of emotions. Over the hundreds of shows he has done, he has become more confident that the music should not be unrelentingly happy. It should be sad. It should be scary. The babies will respond. They will engage. As Andrea Bocelli says, ‘To sing opera, one needs two things: the voice and the passion – and above all, the passion.’ Peter and Lucy both get to show off the power of their voices and the music becomes increasingly dramatic, even slightly frightening at times. By my count they are singing in at least four different languages: English, French, Italian and Volcano. The babies lap it up. Many are active participants; others are quietly transfixed. Zoe tells me that, in her experience, tears are very rare. For all of them, the music provides the thread through the performance, holding their attention and inviting them into the action.

American writer Ellen Dissanayake believes that something not too different from Musical Rumpus could have been the origin of music, art and even love. She thinks music and other arts evolved in tandem with our need for intimacy and belonging. In a wonderful book entitled Art and Intimacy she provides a deeply humanistic perspective on the evolution of art and culture that puts mothers and babies centre stage. ‘It is not surprising that societies all over the world have developed these nodes of culture that we call ceremonies or rituals, which do for their members what mothers naturally do for their babies: engage their interest, involve them in a shared rhythmic pulse, and thereby instil feelings of closeness and communion.’ (Dissanayake, 2000).

Ellen Dissanayake sits in her Seattle, Wash., home Dec. 11, 2008 with a carved female figure (nokwi) from the Kwoma people of Middle Sepik River area of Papua New Guinea, that was used in a yam ceremony and then discarded, which she acquired in 1981. Dissanayake is an independent scholar and author whose work focuses on the anthropological exploration of art and culture.
Ellen Dissanayake with Kwoma carving. Photo by Ingrid Barrentine.

In an earlier book, Dissanayake had proposed the notion of Homo Aestheticus (Dissanayake, 1994). She thinks art makes us feel good and feel bigger than ourselves. Art aims ‘to recognise an extra-ordinary as opposed to an ordinary dimension to experience; to act deliberately in response to uncertainty’. It was counter-revolutionary idea. Rather than looking for explanations of art and aesthetics in psychology or philosophy, she considered its evolutionary benefit. With a background in ethology and 15 years living in Sri Lanka, Nigeria, and Papua New Guinea, she felt she had escaped the narrow Eurocentric perspective of most art theorists, who take their meanings from contemporary European culture and its phases and fashions over the last few centuries. She thinks modern theorists’ obsession with the meaning of words blinds them to a deep history of 5 million years of social living and preliterate culture. As a result, she gets very angry with all the relativism of postmodernism and literary theory, which claims that art gets its power because it is a signifier of nothing beside itself. Dissanayake does not stand for this: ‘Nothing? Fire is hot. Hunger is bad. Babies are good.’

Art and Intimacy takes things further. It argues that the arts are not tools of sexual competition but expressions of empathy and community. The book was born out of a year Dissanayake spent in Edinburgh at Colwyn Trevarthen’s lab learning about the ‘primary intersubjectivity’ created as mothers synchronise with their babies. Dissanayake proposes that the arts extend this to larger groups. She dismisses the sex-obsessed perspective of most evolutionary psychologists, who, she notes, are mostly male. If music and art are tools of courtship, this is minor, secondary role. The main evolutionary value of art, music and story is as shared experience. And, just as a mother’s attunement with her infant is beneficial for the baby’s well-being, art is good for our psychological well-being.

In Dissanayake’s account, the origin of art is social, not symbolic. It is found in activity, not imagery. As a highly social species we have a capacity for mutual engagement and for kinship and belonging. Even before we had language, it is likely that we sought and shared meaning by other means, and this is art. The dynamic, interactive nature of music serves this purpose well. We would have been able to sing before we could speak. Dissanayake thinks mothers’ musical engagement with infants is much more than the ‘soporific bliss’ of lullabies. It captures, holds and sustains the infants’ attention and explores reciprocity and the full range of emotional states. Anxiety, fear and anger all have life-preserving functions. The songs of mothers provide infants with a real experience of these darker feelings, balancing them with joy, surprise and love.

The songs, ceremonies and rituals of our ancient ancestors created community. So David Pountney, former head of the Welsh National Opera is on to something when he says that ‘opera is the embodiment of an essential human instinct: telling stories through music. It links modern, liberal intellectual and artistic culture with our primitive ritualistic origins.’ And yet, amazingly, baby opera brings us even closer to that ancient truth. Just as the feigned tickle of a baby might have been humanity’s first ever joke, a mother’s emotional songs to her baby might have been our first artwork.

Extract from my book The Laughing Baby – a popular science book about the delights of being a baby.

Toddler carrying blanket with caption Happy Towel Day!

Life, the universe and Markov blankets

Forty years ago, on 8th March 1978, the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy was broadcast on BBC Radio for the very first time. I personally first heard it 12 years later, but since that time it has remained my favourite comedy ever. To celebrate the birthday of this remarkable show, book, film, computer game here is a section from my book. This is from a chapter on boredom, surprise and why babies are little scientists. It’s also about why scientists are big kids.

Share and enjoy!

Security Blankets

Life is an inevitable & emergent property of any (ergodic) random dynamical system that possesses a Markov blanket. Don’t leave without it!

@FarlKriston, 12 Jan 2015, Anonymous Twitter parody of Prof Karl Friston, FRS

Professor Karl Friston is probably the most influential scientist you’ve never heard of. He works at the University College London’s world famous Functional Imaging Laboratory, affectionally known as the FIL. He has been there most of his career. Back in 1991 he invented Statistical Parametric Mapping. SPM is a statistical technique for analysing the data from brain imaging experiments. SPM is also a set of software that will do the analysis for you. The elegance of the method and the fact that Friston gave away his software for free has led to SPM being used in about 90% of all brain imaging studies. As a result, Karl Friston is the most widely cited neuroscientist alive.

Most of us would have been very happy with that but Friston’s contributions did not stop there. He worked with Chris Frith to develop a highly influential account of schizophrenia and invented something called Dynamic Causal Modelling. He is author or co-author of over a thousand scientific papers. This is a mind-boggling number. For comparison I have under 20. This is partly a consequence of his eminence but also evidence that he is a very practical researcher who stays involved in the nitty-gritty. Friends who work with him tell me he is an affable and generous colleague. Friston’s many, many awards include Fellowship of the Royal Society and something called Golden Brain Award. He is undoubtedly a worthy recipient. He is famous among brain scientists as perhaps the brainiest of them all.

Karl Friston’s most recent idea is his biggest yet. The ‘Free-Energy Principle’ tries to explain not only what brains do but possibly even life itself. But it is also making Friston infamous, as the nerdy but well-meaning mockery of @FarlKriston account shows. The trouble is that the free-energy principle is very hard to comprehend and Friston’s explanations and equations usually only make matter worse. I will do my best to translate. But if you found the last section bamboozling now might be a good time to reach for your security blanket.

Here’s a relatively tame example of Karl explaining it in his own words:

The free-energy principle says that any self-organizing system that is at equilibrium with its environment must minimize its free energy. The principle is essentially a mathematical formulation of how adaptive systems (that is, biological agents, like animals or brains) resist a natural tendency to disorder. (p.127, Friston, 2010)

This makes it sound important doesn’t it? Apparently it can explain everything from the existence of ‘Life as we know it’ (Friston, 2013) right up to Freudian theory and psychedelic drug experiences (Carhart-Harris & Friston, 2010).

The secret is nestled in our Markov blankets. As Karl helpfully explains “The term Markov blanket was introduced in the context of Bayesian networks or graphs and refers to the children of a set (the set of states that are influenced), its parents (the set of states that influence it) and the parents of its children” (Friston, 2013). Got that? In essence, Markov blankets are a supercharged version of Judea Pearl’s Bayesian networks. They provide a statistical way to represent the boundary between an organism and the world. The mathematics gets very complicated, combining Bayesian statistics, information theory and entropy to explain how life can survive in the face of the chaos of the universe. But, in some sense, the free energy principle states that life is about trying to avoid being too surprised by the future.

Knowing what might happen next sounds like a good survival strategy. For Karl Friston, life is anything that can predict its own future. From single cells to Sigmund Freud, he wraps us each in a Markov blanket and sends us out to do battle with the unknown. Describing organisms in this way has some useful features. Action, perception and learning all become mathematically well-defined properties of the system. Perception provides information to optimise future predictions, actions move us out of uncertain (dangerous) situations, and learning is about updating internal states and beliefs about the external world. This might seem a very abstract way of looking at things but it supporters see it as general framework that can be applied as easily to bees as to babies.

Critics of Friston’s theory say there is nothing easy about it. They view it as an interesting intellectual exercise but say that the Free Energy Principle and the closely related Bayesian brain hypothesis are too general to be useful in the real world. FEP is a lot more abstract that SPM. It is not easy to see how it can be used to predict how adult or baby brains will react to the world. But this style of reasoning is already being used to understand what happens in real brains.

My favourite experiment of this kind involved a group of ferrets who went to the cinema. In what was clearly a naked attempt to win an Ignobel Prize, Josef Fiser and Michael Weliky at the University of Rochester got ferrets to watch The Matrix on DVD. The choice was deliberate because like Neo and friends the ferrets had wires coming out the back of their heads. This allowed the scientists to watch what they were thinking. They would watch the film all day and then dream about it at night. In doing so they helped Fiser and colleagues worked out a lot more about how brains are Bayesian predictors (Fiser, Chiu, & Weliky, 2004).

Josef Fisher is the sort of scientist Hollywood might dream up. He is tall, charming, handsome and impeccably dressed. He is Hungarian but speaks English with an American accent. His work is in psychology and neuroscience but with a strong mathematical element. If they made a film about him there would be a whiteboard of equations in the background.

Using the Matrix for this research seems like a doubly prophetic choice. In grown-up ferrets, the scientists discovered patterns of neural activity which correlated significantly with the images on the screen, whilst baby ferrets were more confused. Moreover, the adults kept on thinking about the movie after it had finished. This was pretty cool but the most surprising thing was that ferrets brains were not just passively reproducing what they saw. They could dream about it and their dreams appeared to actively improve their models of the world. Like Neo in the film, they were bending their existing expectations to fit their new reality. Or in the language of Karl Friston, they were minimising their prediction errors via a Gibbs sampling over the probability space.

Still with me? Perhaps now might be a good time to mention Douglas Adams. In that wholly remarkable book the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, he relates that one the highest compliments intergalactic hitchhikers can pay to one another is to say that they are “someone who knows where their towel is.” There are, of course, many practical uses for a towel when travelling the universe but a towel’s greatest value is psychological. As the book recounts:

“any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with” (Adams, 1979).

Babies and young children are more likely to carry a security blanket or soft toy on their adventures. Some estimates suggest that up to 70% of children have a strong attachment to a particular object. This seems to be largely a Western phenomenon, possibly a result of many more children sleeping separately from their parents than in Eastern cultures. The standard explanation was that these ‘attachment objects’ are a substitute for the original ‘object’, the mother and her breast. This does not hold up. The objects can provide security in novel situations but it seems to be an independent a child’s attachment to their mother (Donate-Bartfield & Passman, 2004).

Donald Winnicott thought attachment objects were reminder of security and love. I think this is correct. However, Karl Friston and the ferrets lets us see security blankets and velveteen rabbits in a wider context. Babies and children use these objects because we need security as we build our worlds. The ultimate aim of life is to explore enough of the world so that you can survive surprises. We will never be able to expect the unexpected but we can and we must reduce its scope and its impact. To survive we have to change our minds many times. Like the ferrets, we do this by improving in a Bayesian way, updating our beliefs to better fit our experience.

Babies are surprised every day and must continually confront uncertainty and explore the unknown. This is exhilarating and exhausting. It is not enough to add knowledge about the world, they must change their expectations, a new existential crisis every day. Mummy, teddy or a security blanket is a reassuring element of continuity and predictability. If babies know where that is, they know where they are. Perhaps this prevents the Markov blanket from unravelling?

It is hard to appreciate what a wild ride this must be for them. Adults do not change our beliefs very often. We have worked our whole lives to feel like we are right about most things. After all, in Friston’s theory that is the whole point of life; being less surprised over time. The best analogy I can suggest is to imagine your home planet gets destroyed and your best friend turns out be an alien who takes you hitchhiking across the remainder of the galaxy.

I might be biased here. Not only I am keen to meet aliens, I also still have a security blanket. I had one when I was little. I was so attached to it that my mother knitted a large elephant and sewed the tatty cotton rag onto his back. This was meant to deter me but inevitably I ended up dragging the elephant around everywhere. The original blanket disintegrated decades ago. It was replaced in my affections by a cellular blanket my mother bought home one day from hospital. The blanket wrapped a parcel containing my baby sister. No doubt I seemed alien and friendly to her. I still find cotton cellular blankets very soothing. May you do too? Around 30 percent of adults keep an old teddy or similar childhood memento. By my estimates, Charlie Brown’s friend Linus van Pelt must be into his seventies by now. I imagine he still carries his blanket some of the time.

As luck would have it just as I was finishing writing this section, Karl Friston came to my university to give a lecture. This was my chance to hear him in his own words. Would I be bamboozled? His opening was not promising, “I can give very good lectures. This is not one of them.” But he was wrong. He had us imagining ourselves as hungry owls and playing a logical guessing games. There were some of his infamous equations but he guided us through gently them. His reassuring, unhurried delivery no doubt acquired during his early training as a psychiatrist.

His summary of the purpose of life fits very well with the ambitions of our babies. When confronted with the big mysteries of the universe we are compelled to explain them (even if only to explain them away.) “The brain is in the game of explaining the sensory impression at hand.” This is a game of chance and we are all born with an intrinsic motivation to play it. We all keep score with the information gain measured in “Bayesian surprise” (or minimized free energy). Afterwards, I told him about this book and asked if he any insights into how this must feel for babies who play the game so much more intensely than adults? He could not much improve upon the hitchhiking analogy. And, wise man that he is, he also turned the question around. “This is why we are scientists isn’t it? To keep exploring and to try and recapture that feeling of joy?”

At the end of his famous 4 page paper Judea Pearl stated that he hoped his Bayesian networks would become “a standard point of departure for more sophisticated models of belief maintenance and inexact reasoning”. Be careful what you wish for. I do not think he could have predicted that ferrets would be watching The Matrix or that Karl Friston would drape Markov blankets over all life on Earth

“In truth it’s blankets all the way down. So cuddle close and keep that free energy minimal.”

(@FarlKriston, 8 Dec 2017)
Douglas Adams holding up a towel
Douglas Adams knew where his towel was.

For more like this, please look out for my book The Laughing Baby. It is being crowdfunded by Unbound Books. So it needs your support to make it a reality. Please pre-order your copy or tell your friends with babies

The characters Anger, Disgust, Joy, Fear and Sadness from Pixar's Inside Out

Babies and emotion

This weekend I was delighted to receive a beautiful copy of Schadenfreude by Tiffany Watt Smith. It has a close connection to my own book The Laughing Baby because Tiffany and I have compared notes as our various projects have progressed. Tiffany is an historian of emotions and the parent of young childen. She has even brought her son to our lab to take part in one of our studies…

Schadenfreude — Tiffany Watt Smith

You will have to read her book to find out if babies do expeience Schadenfreude. What’s more, Tiffany was one of the first people I interviewed when writing my book. Unfortunately, I didn’t check that sound levels so the recording is essentially inaudible. Nonetheless, her previous book was very helpful when i was trying to answer the following tricky question:

What are emotions?

(From Chapter Nine of The Laughing Baby)

“Emotions do not exist to be locked away inside individuals.”

Vasudevi Reddy and Colwyn Trevarthen, 2004

If laughter evolved as a social glue, central to this role is that it expresses emotion. The most infectious thing about a laughing baby is their absolute delight. It may seem a truism to say that ‘babies laugh because they are happy’. But this challenges us to answer the question what is happiness? While we are about it we might as well try and explain anger, sadness, worry and the rest. It should not surprise anyone that emotions are still mysterious to science. Many theories have been proposed and few have been discarded.

The race for a comprehensive theory of emotion is still wide open. Perhaps, it will always remain so, no scientific theory could catalogue all the nuances of our adult experience. In The Book of Human Emotions, Tiffany Watt Smith describes 156 different emotions. She readily admits this list is not comprehensive and the categories overlap and blur at their edges, changing over time and by culture. Tiffany’s goal as a historian of emotion to offer an argument against the tendency to reduce “the beautiful complexity of our inner lives into just a handful of cardinal emotions” (Watt Smith, 2015).

It is a tendency that has always been there. Tiffany describes the Li Chi, a book from the Confucian era that lists seven essential feelings; joy, anger, sadness, fear, love, dislike and fondness. Two and a half millennia later and little has changed. In the 2015 animated Pixar film Inside Out, the main character, a young girl called Riley, is shown with five emotions; Joy, Anger, Sadness, Fear and Disgust. Modern science usually settles on a list of about nine ‘basic emotions’; happiness, sadness, anger, fear, parental love, child attachment, sexual love, hatred, and disgust (Oatley & Johnson-Laird, 2014). These lists seem reasonable in as far as they go. But the best theories are not about listing emotions but explaining why we have emotions at all.

One of the first people to realise this was Charles Darwin. In a work of visionary genius that often gets overlooked in comparison to his other incredible achievements Darwin advanced one the first ever scientific theories of emotions. His book The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals (Darwin, 1872a) proposed that our emotions are evolved for our survival. Of course, he would say that wouldn’t he? Like all of Darwin’s work it was supported by decades of patient accumulation of evidence. He compared the anger displays of many animals. He also included many observations of babies. Darwin kept detailed biographical diaries of several of his children and wondered what was meant by their frowns, blushes, and laughs. On a theoretical level Darwin’s account was a bit thin, all it really says is that emotions are universal, valuable and shared with animals. But it was a very radical proposal for its time

About a decade later, William James and Carl Lange each independently decided that emotions were reactions to bodily states. For example, fear might be how we interpreted our racing hearts. For James emotions are literally feelings, “we feel sorry because we cry, … not … we cry … because we are sorry” (p. 180, James 1884). By this view emotions happen after the fact and are what philosophers call ‘epiphenomena’. The theory has been remarkable popular because it suggests that if you carefully measure exactly how a person is reacting physiologically you can tell what emotion they are experiencing. The James-Lang theory feels unsatisfying to me because it relegates emotion to a passive role. But it does have two important strengths. It points out that our physiology strongly influences our mental state and that emotions depend upon interpretation of experience. Contrary to early views of the theory popularised by John Dewey, neither James nor Lang ever insisted on a single emotion for each physiological reaction. They would be quite content that a racing heart and sweaty palms could be interpreted as fear in some situations and as love in others (L. B. Feldman, 2018).

Our old friend Sigmund Freud took a very different view. For Freud, emotions were supremely mental. Our minds are seething cauldrons of desires. Emotions are the main engine that drive us forward or hold us back. Reversing James-Lange theory, Freud even thought that mental turmoil could manifest itself physically as psychosomatic illness. But Freud’s biggest contribution was the invention of the unconscious. He believed our ‘true’ emotions hide from us in our subconscious and they are shaped by momentous events in early life that echo down through our lives. Being unobservable the unconscious is unscientific. Hence my use of the word invention rather than discovery. If you read modern neuroscience papers on emotion, they usually take the trouble to explain why James & Lange were wrong, but do not even bother to mention Freud.

Jaak Panksepp, who we met tickling rats in chapter seven, believes our emotions exist to tell us what supports or detracts from our survival. He thinks we have 7 emotional systems. There are ancient systems of FEAR, RAGE, LUST and SEEKING and more modern mechanisms for CARE, PANIC and PLAY that are unique to social mammals. He capitalises the words to emphasise that he gives them very specific scientific meaning (Panksepp, 2005). Each system serving specific goal and can be mapped to equivalent brain areas in many species. Take the PANIC system which rules babies’ separation anxiety. Panksepp shows that it operates in the brain with the same neurochemistry as physical pain. The pain of separation is real pain and prompts the infant to act, usually calling out to mother in distress. The return of the mother releases opioids and oxytocin which relieve the pain. The brain circuitry goes back to the imprinting in chicks and the survival value is clear in both cases (Herman & Panksepp, 1981).

As well as his laughing rats, Panksepp has looked at sadness in chickens, what makes guinea pigs cry and mother-infant bonding in sheep. He has spent decades researching emotion in animals and is very particular that they feel things in the same way we do. He believes in an emotional consciousness common to humans and animals and cognitive consciousness that comes later with the use of language. Emotions colour our world and the conscious experience of joy or rage is essential to its function for humans and animals alike. It is an unpopular viewpoint. Plenty of scientists are dismissive of the experience of animals. They cite Morgan’s cannon and say science can only ever study animal behaviour. They criticise him because they do not believe animals have consciousness necessary to experience or interpret emotions. In Panksepp’s view, these scientists are looking down the wrong end of the telescope. It is the experience that makes the emotion and experiencing emotions was how and why consciousness evolved. We may have to describe animal emotions with human labels but FEAR came before ‘fear’ and SEEKING before ‘pleasure’. In my view the most case compelling against Panksepp’s critics is that anyone who is dismissive of animal emotions also has dismiss all the emotions of preverbal babies.

Some researchers do argue precisely this position. One forceful critic of Panksepp is Canadian researcher Lisa Barrett Feldman. A professor of psychology at Northeastern University in Boston, she argues that emotions are entirely conceptual and so animals and new born babies cannot have them. Here is what she says about babies

“Babies don’t know what telescopes are, or sea cucumbers or picnics, let alone purely mental concepts like ‘Whimsy’ or ‘Schadenfreude’. A newborn is experientially blind to a great extent.” (p. 113, L. B. Feldman, 2018)

The quote comes from her recent book How Emotions Are Made in which she describes her own theory of constructed emotion. She contrasts this with what she calls classical view of emotions shared by Darwin, Panksepp and others. As I said at the outset of this section, no one theory of emotions covers all the ground yet so it worth looking at things from the opposite perspective. To do this let us go back to Inside Out.

In the film Inside Out, each of the basic emotions is personified as a character inside Riley’s mind. Joy appears first when Riley is a new born baby seeing her blurry parents for the first time. Her job it seems is to press buttons the cause Riley to respond and collect the memories associated with her actions. She is shortly joined by Sadness and the others and each interpret situations and responds according to their nature. Joy delights, Anger gets mad, Fear worries, Disgust dislikes things and Sadness is sad. If we forgive the artistic licence of little people inside your head pressing buttons it is a wonderful depiction of the classical view of emotions. This is to be expected, the main scientific advisor on the film was Paul Ekman who is one of main theorists behind the idea that emotions are universal biological drives (Keltner & Ekman, 2015).

The outer plot revolves around an eleven year old Riley having to adapt as her family move from Minnesota to a new home and new school San Francisco. The inner plot revolves around Joy trying to understand the purpose of Sadness. It is a good film so I won’t spoil it for you but it is not giving too much away to say that the Emotions learn to work as a team and Riley learns that other people struggle with their emotions too. At various points we see into her parents’ heads, their own teams of five emotional essences at their controls. It is a story Barrett claims that would be recognisable to Aristotle, Plato and even the Buddha, but she argues it is built on a myth. Barrett does not believe there are universal emotions. Your emotions are not fixed by evolution but constructed as part of your culture. They do not bubble up from a set of brain areas but are constructed by your highly sophisticated human brain building abstract categories to help classify and your inner and outer lives.

Lisa Feldman Barrett’s theory has no problem with there being hundreds of subtle emotions like those listed in Tiffany Watt-Smith’s Handbook. In fact, Barrett is the editor of her own Handbook of Emotions, an academic volume running to over 900 pages. There can be countless, complex emotions because our highly social lives and big brains create that complexity. But then Ekman and Panksepp do not have any problem with the existence of complex emotions like embarrassment, ennui or exasperation. Where her theory differs is that she does not think happiness, anger or sadness are any more natural or biological than technostress or Torschlusspanik.

But that does not mean that in Barrett’s version of the film there would be 156+ characters all clamouring for attention in Riley’s head. That would be a terrible movie and it would be committing the error of Essentialism. Just because we can classify a set of behaviours as ‘anger’, does not make anger is a real thing. According to Barrett, Plato, Darwin and Panksepp all commit this error. Plato we can forgive. Essences and Platonic Ideals were kind of his ‘thing’. Barrett gives Darwin a particularly hard time and she has a point. His theory evolution removed the need for essentialism from biological classification. But his book on emotions went the other way. Barrett notes that at Darwin says “Even insects express, anger, jealously and love” (p.350, Darwin, 1872).

Why is this an error? Let us take a closer look at Anger. In several chapters of How Emotions Are Made Barrett deconstructs anger to show it is not a single, simple thing. First, she takes aim at Ekman’s famous work supposedly showing that expressions of emotion are universal. But her research shows that neither facial expressions or physiological signals are highly ambiguous. You can be angry without giving any outward sign of it and seems like anger might not be. Second, there is ambiguity in language. ‘Anger’ might mean annoyance, irritation, rage or fury. But some languages Utka Eskimos have no concept of “Anger” while Mandarin has five or more different “Angers”. Some languages would not even recognise our Western notion of emotion. Finally, in Chapter 12 Barrett asks, “Is a Growling Dog Angry”? As you might guess her answer is that “there is no clear evidence that any non-human animals have the sort of emotion concepts that humans do.” (p. 270). Even dogs, who we have been breeding for their loyalty and understanding of us for millennia. The best we can say is that dogs have raw feelings but this is a long way from emotion. Insects, not even that.

It is in how they approach the emotions of babies where gulf between these theories comes into focus. Barrett, for whom emotions are conceptual, spends a lot of time discussing infant pattern recognition abilities and how they learn words and concepts, the mental prerequisites for her cognitive concept of emotions. Panksepp, for whom emotions are feelings, does more to evoke our empathy but usually cannot help reducing things down to biology and brain areas (Panksepp, 2001). It is notable that neither camp engages directly with the experience of the babies themselves. Yet, I think this is precisely where we will find a better sense of what human emotions are and how they build on our animal affect.

Emotion is about more than just classifying feelings, it is about the feelings themselves. A baby may not know that their sadness is “Sadness” or their happiness is “Joy”. But any parent can see that there is something very real contained in their experiences. I am sure that Barrett and Panksepp would both acknowledge this but there does not seem to be much space in their theories for the subjective sense of emotion, its ‘phenomenology’ if you wanted to be fancy. I do not believe a comprehensive theory of emotions exists yet, but such a theory would not be complete if it did not encompass the primal emotional experience of infants.

For more like this, please look out for my book The Laughing Baby. It is being crowdfunded by Unbound Books. Please pre-order your copy or tell your friends with babies.

A time before smiles?

A time before smiles?

This is the first chapter from my book The Laughing Baby, coming soon from Unbound.

Illustration copyright Marian Medina Cuesta 2017

When the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces and they all went skipping about and that was beginning of fairies 
— Peter Pan, JM Barrie

A baby’s first laugh is a magic moment. Parents have no trouble remembering it even years later. Happening anywhere from a few weeks old to four or five months, those early laughs will very likely be small and subtle, a light and breathy chuckle. A tiny baby cannot coordinate the rapid contractions of the intercostal chest muscles required to laugh properly but the sound is unmistakable nonetheless.

For Aristotle, the first time we laugh marks the instant when our soul enters our body and the moment we become truly human. He thought that laughter was what separates us from the animals. He was wrong, of course. Other animals can and do laugh and the boundary between us and other species is a matter of degree, a question of genes and culture. As for the soul, nowadays we would probably call that ‘consciousness’ and we understand that it dawns slowly.

But a baby’s first laugh is a very special event and one that feels transformative. Sometimes it is a spontaneous sound of wellbeing and satisfaction: “I am warm and happy and full of mother’s milk.” Occasionally it is a response to something the baby sees, like a shadow waving on the wall. Best of all is when it is the result of something a parent does — returning to the room or planting a ticklish kiss. However small that first laugh may be, parents will recognise in it the idea that “a laugh is a smile that burst”. It is the first time that a baby expresses their absolute delight with the world.

It is a memory that can stay with a parent forever. When I ran my baby laughter survey one parent, Mary, took the trouble to write and tell me about “the sound of the Angels” that burst forth when she kissed her tiny daughter’s tummy. It had happened forty-two years previously but it still echoed in her memory and made her “smile with JOY”. It was one of many similar stories. This is rather remarkable given that adult memory is usually very vague and non-specific. What did you have for lunch yesterday or do on your last birthday? Not many events in our grown up lives stick all that well. Even wedding days become hazy. But our children’s first laughs, first steps, first words remain with us and raise a smile decades later.

Memories of first smiles can be more elusive and uncertain. In my survey first smiles are reported anywhere from the first day to the sixth month, which is a relatively large range. On top of this, parents have a harder time pinpointing the very first smile and more difficulty recalling it. There are several things happening here. Not only are first smiles more subtle and fleeting but very often parents have been taught to doubt their own judgements.

There is a much-repeated myth that all smiles before about six weeks are actually responses to trapped wind or the sign of a baby filling their nappy rather than a true sign of pleasure or contentment. This myth is widespread and persistent. I’ve even seen it on popular midwifing websites. But it is one that I completely reject. It is true that babies do pull funny faces when burping or pooping. They also smile with genuine satisfaction. Many parents I’ve surveyed are convinced they have seen genuine smiles from very early on and I believe them. They are, no doubt, slightly biased but they are also studying their own baby far more intently than anyone else. We will see later in the chapter why there are excellent grounds for believing they are correct. For the moment, I think it is simple enough to let parents trust their own judgement on this.

Let’s take another look at those first smiles. Yes, babies can pull funny faces when burping up milk or filling nappies but they are equally capable of showing genuine emotion. No one doubts that first cries and first tears are real. A baby in distress is obvious to all. It seems strange, then, that experts would want to deny that early positive emotions are also valid; that first smiles aren’t “proper smiles”.

Worse yet, here we have new parents being told by experts that they are wrong about something so basic. Already uncertain of their own abilities, it is not a great way to reassure them. The main message of this book is that parents and their babies figure most things out for themselves. Nobody is ever properly prepared for a baby. But equally, parents know more than they realise and they will learn fast. It’s even more stressful and bewildering for the baby but their little laughs and smiles are a sign they are succeeding. No one should take that away from them.

There is another milestone for new mothers that it is often overlooked. When was the first time her baby made her laugh? This was earlier than you think. Of course there can be big smiles at the very beginning. Perhaps the time when she first suspected a baby was to be expected? Perhaps when it was confirmed by that second blue line on a pregnancy test? Or maybe a little later when seeing another mum with her new baby made the reality of her own future more concrete?

Secret Joy

But I am not talking about those moments. I like to think that the first time baby directly makes mother laugh is when something about their wriggling inside her makes her smile or starts her giggling. A good friend tells me of laughing when feeling that her unborn daughter had got the hiccups. But it doesn’t take something as comical as this to bring smiles to a mothers lips. Often it is just the knowledge that a new conversation has started.

In my favourite part of Expecting, Chitra Ramaswamy’s book-length memoir of her pregnancy. Chitra describes going out for dinner with friends to celebrate her birthday. Five months pregnant she can’t enjoy the adventurous food of the restaurant and is distracted from her friends as her baby wriggled inside:

I sat sipping champagne that tasted more like cider, pretending to follow the conversation while the baby fizzed in my belly. I said nothing about this furtive firework display. I had no desire to talk about it. There was nothing for anyone else to feel, nothing for anyone else to understand. This was my secret Morse code tapping out its message on my insides. I felt flushed with joy. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, one I can summon up whenever I want to, and often do. (p84–5, Expecting, Chitra Ramaswary 2016)

Just as that private joy became one of the happiest moments of her life. Chitra also relates how Tolstoy makes this secret moment a pivotal scene in his realist masterpiece, Anna Karenina. Anna is pregnant with the child of her lover, Vronsky, but huge obstacles face them because she is already married. Anna has dreamt that she will die in childbirth, and informs Vronsky of this prompting another a fraught discussion of their doomed affair, but in the middle of this Anna experiences the great fears for her situation giving way to a sense of bliss when she feels her baby stirring inside of her.

The first feeling of movement is known as the quickening. For thousands of years this was the major event of pregnancy. Before pregnancy tests and modern medicine this was the first time a woman could say with certainty that she was pregnant. Aristotle and the ancient Greeks and Romans thought this was the moment when the soul entered the body. That these movements indicated the moment when the foetus became “animated” with life, Animus and anima being the Latin words for mind and soul respectively; both having their roots in an even more ancient Proto Indo-European word for breath or breathing.

The legal system also recognised the quickening as the point that divided life from potential life as in the biblical phrase “the quick and the dead”. In English common law abortion was permissible before this point and assaults that caused a woman to miscarry after the quickening were treated as more serious. Until 1869 even the Catholic Church held this view, it accepted abortion before the quickening as the destruction of potential life not of life itself. Legal definitions are now based on viability of life outside the womb. English law recognises a foetus as being “capable of being born alive” from 24 weeks and a baby’s legal status as an individual commences from the point they draw their first breath.

In the private history of any individual pregnancy quickening is a big milestone. The very first flutters of movement are a tangible joy, literally a “touching” moment. From here onwards a mother has a new connection with her little passenger and can start to infer their personality. Comparing the patterns of activity with the experience of other mums to be. Is her little one more prone to wriggling late and night or early in the morning? How do they respond to music or their mother’s mood, to coffee or to cake?

For a first-time mum the first feelings of a baby moving typically occur between the 16th to 20th weeks of pregnancy. Second-time mums tend to notice these movements several weeks earlier because their uterus walls are thinner. This gives a big clue that a foetus is moving before the mother notices it. In fact, it is long before. The first movements are already possible between 4 & 8 weeks after conception. Although there is no way a mother will notice these as the foetus is still the size of a lentil. Though, of course, she will have known she is pregnant from near the beginning.

Even before the introduction of hormonal pregnancy tests in 1970s, few women failed to notice the massive changes that sweep through their bodies after a fertilized egg implants in the womb. The process is started by a flood of human chorinonic gonadortrophin (hCP to its friends) that gets released when the placenta first forms. This tells the ovaries that a pregnancy is taking place and prompts the ovaries to keep producing progesterone while the placenta takes over producing estrogen. The levels of both these two main female hormones will keep increasing throughout pregnancy. A third important hormone, oxytocin, makes its appearance later at the time of the birth.

Progesterone increases the mother’s body temperature and metabolism, this requires extra energy, which is one reason she feels tired all the time. Progesterone also relaxes muscle tone which is useful in later stages of pregnancy but early on affects the stomach and intestine causing heartburn via acid reflux. Estrogen changes her senses of smell and taste and is thought to cause the nausea, vomiting and stomach cramps of morning sickness. On top of all that she has also just found out that you are pregnant. It is not unreasonable for her to be feeling a bit fragile. Fragile and largely in the dark. That first touch of the baby is reassuring.

But in the dark we can listen. Thanks to key medical inventions by maternity doctors René Laennec and Ian Donald eavesdropping on life in the womb has been an important part of obstetrics for nearly two hundred years. René Laennec was a doctor who worked at the Necker hospital for Sick Children in Paris, the world’s first paediatric hospital. In 1816 he invented the stethoscope. He used to get embarrassed having to put his ear to women’s chests to listen to their hearts so he made a listening tube. It was just a short straight wooden tube that he placed on their chest to let him keep a respectable distance. It turned out that this worked better than an ear directly on the chest.

It wasn’t long before Leannec and his colleagues realised that this new invention would let them listen to an unborn baby’s heart beat too. The first reports of foetal heart rates is from 1821 by Leannec’s pupil, Jean-Alexandre Le Jumeau (Wulf, 1985). The Y-shaped stethoscope appeared in 1851 and hasn’t really changed much since then. It is good enough to hear a baby’s heart beating from the 22nd week of pregnancy, though it can depend on the orientation of the baby in the womb (and how much mum’s stomach is gurgling). It could even confirm if there were going to be twins; although if the foetus is moving the heartbeat can be masked by the sound of it splashing around in the amniotic sack.

Measuring foetal heart rate and how much it varies can tell doctors about the health of the foetus. The heart rate is controlled by two complementary systems the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system. The sympathetic nervous system causes increase in heart rate and parasympathetic causes decreases. Normally they are in balance with each other and the heart rate gradually cycles up and down. A very fast or very slow heart rate or even a lack of variability can be a warning sign for doctors.

Interestingly, this very early research also led to an old wives’ tales that persists to this day. In 1860, a certain Dr Frankenhauser published a study in a German medical journal claiming that heart rate could predict the sex of baby. He believed that female foetuses had a heart rate of around 144 beats per minute (bpm) while male foetuses would average 124 bpm. This is not true but the myth has been very hard to shift. It still gets regularly repeated on many pregnancy websites.

Ian Donald was an obstetrician working at the Glasgow Royal Maternity Hospital. Always an original thinker and tinkerer, Donald had previously invented a respirator for newborn infants, unfairly gaining the nickname “Mad Donald”. In the late 1950’s he and his colleagues helped invent modern ultrasound equipment and pioneered its use in foetal medical imaging.

Ultrasound is technically described as an imaging technique but it is based on ordinary sound waves albeit beyond our range of hearing. Like the echolocation of bats, or the sonar of dolphins and submarines, it involves listening to the echoes of very high pitched squeaks and clicks. Sonar technologies had been around in rudimentary form since the first world war and ultrasound itself started life as means of inspecting the interior of metalwork.

Donald had heard of this and of previous attempts to use the same idea to peer into the body. In 1955 he visited the engineering firm Babcock & Wilcox who made large boilers for Glasgow’s shipbuilding industry and who had a metalwork ultrasound device. Donald turned up with two car-loads of medical specimens. Just as it detected flaws and weakness in welds and joints, the device was able to detect the anomalous signals coming from tumours and cysts in the samples. Donald and colleagues built their own version and started using it in their diagnostic work. They wrote up their findings for the medical journal The Lancet in 1958 (Donald, Macvicar, & Brown, 1958). That paper is widely credited for kick-starting medical ultrasound (Woo, 2002).

Ultrasound and heart rate monitoring are the backbone of medical monitoring of foetal development. They have also been used by developmental scientists like myself to uncover what babies experience in the womb. Measurement of changes in foetal heart rate allow us to determine when a foetus is surprised by something. Ultrasound lets us see how a foetus moves in response to sounds, movements and other stimuli. Coupled with what it is known about the biology of the growing foetus, this lets us build a picture of what a foetus can learn in the womb.

Ultrasound shows that the clump of cells which become the heart is already beating by the sixth week after conception. As previously mentioned, at this point the embryo is the size of lentil but already the ears, mouth and nose are visible. The eyes and nostrils are two little black dots and arms and legs are still little stubs, the fingers and toes still webbed. A six-week-old embryo will already move in response to touches around the mouth and nose area. These are simple reflexive actions but show that the nervous system is already beginning to arrange itself. This gives a hint as to why mouthing is such an important exploratory skill for babies.

Fruit of the womb

Over the next two weeks, the embryo doubles to blueberry-sized and then doubles again to the size of a raspberry (according to the fruit and veg based measurement system that seems to be standard in all baby books ever written.) At around 10 or 11 weeks, your little strawberry has sleep and wake cycles. Changes in foetal heart rate indicate if the mummy’s passenger is sleeping or awake. Mostly, the womb is a bedroom. Throughout the pregnancy a foetus spends over 90% of his or her time asleep. Sleep cycles are about 40 minutes at a time punctuated by short bursts of activity. The amount of activity increasing as time goes by. At strawberry-sized the movements are minimal but are clearly exhausting as in-utero yawns have been seen as early as week 11 (Joseph, 2000).

Week 13 is peachy. This is the end of the first trimester, one third of the way through the pregnancy and the embryo has developed sufficiently that we start calling it a foetus. The first voluntary movements start to happen around 16 weeks when the foetus is around 4.5 inches long (11.5 cm) and the size of an avocado. Periods of activity are accompanied by foetal callisthenics. The foetus is recognisably human by now with a big round head and teeny tiny fingers and toes.

Foetal development is not simply a process of growth from blueberry-sized blob to bouncing baby. Throughout this time the constant metamorphosis is no less dramatic than from caterpillar to butterfly. Cells are not only dividing and their numbers multiplying but their functions change and they migrate within the body to different goals and different roles. That blueberry still has gill-like structures and tail which become jaw-bones and coccyx. Most internal organs are only fully formed by week 20 and neurons keep moving and connecting beyond birth.

As we already mentioned, the expectant mother will feel the first tickles of movement somewhere between here and week 20 (a small banana). This is typically when the midterm ultrasound takes place. The foetus is carefully examined to check that everything is developing as expected. On modern ultrasounds the sex of the baby can clearly be seen if you know what you are looking for.

Chances are the foetus will be asleep during this exam but if they are moving you might be in for a nice surprise. In March 2015, Jen Hazel and her husband went for their 14-week ultrasound scan with their doctor in Olympia, Washington. During the scan the foetus clapped her hands together. As Jen describes it:

We went in for an ultrasound and the baby clapped three times on screen. Not to the music, just clapped three times. So my doctor, he said, ‘Well, let’s sing a song.’ My husband grabbed his video and the doctor reran the ultrasound and played the claps and I sang and he sang with me ‘If you’re happy and you know it [clap your hands].’

Their singing isn’t great — Jen is laughing too much and her husband doesn’t seem to know all the words — but it’s a delightful video. And when it was uploaded to YouTube it understandably went viral. At the time of writing it has nearly 12 million views.

So could a 14-week-old foetus be happy? Here we get to the heart of this chapter. Is there really a time before smiles? Where does happiness and contentment begin? Are they present from the very start or do emotions only turn on sometime after birth? Jen’s daughter, Pip, was born safe and healthy. She is a happy, playful baby and she still likes music.

But what about when Pip was still a lemon-size foetus of fourteen weeks? Was she happy and did she know it? Could she know it? A single fertilized egg, a zygote, cannot know or show happiness. Nor can the little ball of cells in the blastocyte or even the yawning strawberry sized embryo. Yet from my parental survey of infant laughter, I am confident that a baby of just a few weeks old can show genuine contentment. Many parents report this. So when do the lights come on? When can a smile really be a smile?

It’s hard to say. There is no way a 14-week-old foetus can feel pleasure or pain. Its nervous system isn’t developed enough. No real research exists on foetal pleasure. Indeed, it would be hard to know even know where to start. But foetal pain is a good guide to pleasure. Pleasure and pain are supported by similar circuits and evidence is accumulating that by end of the second trimester, at around 24–25 weeks post-conception, a foetus can feel rudimentary pain. The Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists published a detailed report in 2010 reviewed the available evidence. They concluded that foetal awareness of pain is not possible for before 24 weeks (RCOG, 2010).

For anyone to experience pain, nerve signals from the unpleasant stimulus must reach a cortex capable of processing them. If the signal from some part of the body doesn’t reach the brain, all that we experience is numbness. This is how a local anaesthetic works. Additionally, if the signals reach the brainstem and thalamus but aren’t passed upwards to the cortex we won’t feel anything. This is how general anaesthetic works.

Before 24 weeks a foetus cannot experience pain because the brain is not fully connected. In particular, the thalamus which is a kind of junction box between brain and body, is not properly wired to the cortex (the wrinkly thinking bit). This is not too surprising when you appreciate how complicated the brain is, and how tangled the wiring. Every part needs to talk to every other part and those wires are long trailing tails of the brain cells, called axons. To connect one place to another, the cells must be born in one area and migrate to the other trailing the tail behind them.

As you can imagine this is complicated and the wiring cannot happen until there is somewhere to connect to. The thalamus and the cortex, initially known as the cortical plate, grow separately. A further group of cells develops in a “subplate zone” beneath the cortex. From 12 -18 weeks connections from thalamus arrive in the subplate zone and then wait as the cortical plate matures. At around 24 weeks they recommence their journey to connect to all areas of cortex. A process that continues to week 32. Also at 24 weeks, the neurons of the subplate themselves migrate into different areas of the cortex, effectively wiring these areas together.

Both these processes are important to an awareness of pain. An 18-week-old foetus moves away from a needle prick and even releases stress hormones but it doesn’t feel the pain. The signals can reach the thalamus and potentially the subplate zone but they can’t ascend any higher. The withdrawal reflex and hormone release come from the brainstem.

By 24 weeks nerve signals start to get through the cortex. Brain wave recordings performed with very premature infants show coordinated neural activity in response to a heel lance from 24 weeks of pregnancy. This sets the lower limit recommended by the Royal College. But, as they observe in their report, this is a necessary minimum but it might not be sufficient. EEG activity is not continuous at this point as it would be in an adult or a newborn. So it is not clear that the pain is being perceived as awareness or experience requires an experiencer.

From the 24th week the brain begins connecting itself up in earnest. The sensory inputs from hearing, vision, and touch pass through to the relevant areas of the cortex. Reciprocal connections downward from cortex to brainstem begin by week 26. Feedback loops start to form and the can begin to exert voluntary control over the world. The fetus is starting to hear, feel and even see things and it is starting to learn.

It is unlikely the fetus has any kind of experience before this. But in the third trimester he or she can absorb a surprising amount. Studies looking for changes in fetal heart rate have found that from 26 weeks onwards the fetus can respond and learn to ignore repetitive vibrations. They can respond to changes in levels of external illumination. And can respond to hearing their mother’s voice and feeling her touch through the walls of the womb (Marx & Nagy, 2015).

My favourite study of this kind was done by Peter Hepper of Queen’s University Belfast (Hepper, 1991). He tested newborn infants at just 2–4 days old to see how they responded to music they had heard in the womb. To do this he took advantage of the fact that many mothers watched soap operas. Half of his sample were fans of the show Neighbours and half weren’t. This meant that half babies had heard its catchy theme tune many times while in the womb. When he played it to the two groups in the maternity ward, the movements and heart rates of the Neighbours babies dropped relative to the control group as they seemed to drop into an alert listening state. To double check they were not just more likely to respond to music he tried the Coronation Street theme and got no response. A second experiment got similar results but this time playing the theme tunes to babies still in the womb through headphones on the mummies’ tummies. Hepper argues that the babies were learning not just the music but were associating it with the calm and relaxed state the mother went into as she sat down to enjoy the soap.

One curious feature of most of these studies is that doesn’t seem to matter if the foetus active or ‘asleep’. Recall that foetuses are only active about 10% of the time and the periods of activity in the womb are a dreamlike state not easily comparable to the wakeful attention of a newborn baby is capable of. In fact, some researchers go further and say the whole pregnancy is spent in a deep sleep. Consciousness expert Chirstof Koch writing in Scientific American:

I wager that the foetus experiences nothing in utero; that it feels the way we do when we are in a deep, dreamless sleep. The dramatic events attending delivery by natural (vaginal) means cause the brain to abruptly wake up, however. The foetus is forced from its paradisic existence in the protected, aqueous and warm womb into a hostile, aerial and cold world that assaults its senses with utterly foreign sounds, smells and sights, a highly stressful event. 
 (Koch, 2009)

It is a vivid image but I disagree that life in the womb is spent in such a sedated state. The changes in infant heart rate in various studies suggest they are responsive to events around them and I think these experiences can even be pleasant for the foetus. Anecdotal reports of babies pictured smiling in ultrasounds have been around since 2000, when the resolution of scans became good enough to show facial expressions. Looking at this evidence systematically, the psychologist Nadja Reissland at the University of Durham and colleagues have identified seven foetal facial expressions and confirmed that both crying and laughing are ‘practiced’ in the womb (Reissland, Francis, Mason, & Lincoln, 2011).

Using modern ‘4D’ ultrasound, which has good spatial and depth resolution in real-time, Nadja’s team scanned two foetuses on multiple occasions between 24 and 35 weeks. They recorded 10 minutes of facial expressions on each occasion and used a standard coding scheme to objectively classify what they saw. Facial expressions can be broken down into their component micro-expressions (pursed lips or raised cheeks). The coding scheme designed for very young babies was adapted to define sets of expressions that went together to form a ‘cry face gestalt’ and a ‘laughter face gestalt.’ Some, like a wrinkling of the nose, were common to both. Others defined just laughter (tongue sticking out & lips pulling back) or crying (pulled down lower lip and furrowed brow). Combining data both foetuses (both girls), they found that the crying expression increased from 0 to 42% occurrence while laughing faces increased from 0 to 35% between the 24th and 35th week respectively.

Pleasant expressions were as common as expressions of distress, and both gradually appear as the foetus itself gradually gains awareness. From the baby’s personal point of view, there really is no time before smiles.

When asked I say the grimaces and smiles of infants in utero reflect something genuine from around week 25. I believe this is the start of foetal awareness of pleasure and pain. This not too different from the 24 week mark recommended in the Royal College report. But, for idiosyncratic reasons, I prefer week 25, when the universal fruit and veg scale says the foetus has reached the size of an aubergine.

A former girlfriend of mine, Belinda, always used to say that springy aesthetic pleasures of aubergines reminded her of the chubby arms, legs and tummies of young babies. In the supermarket she couldn’t resist giving the aubergines a playful squeeze. When I started work with babies she would ask often me “How are the aubergines?” It became our secret synonym.

And then a few years ago, while Belinda was pregnant with her daughter Rose, I got a delighted text message letting me know the pregnancy app on her phone had informed that, after 25 weeks, her blueberry had graduated and she was now the proud possessor of a little aubergine of her own.

For more like this, please look out for my book The Laughing Baby. It is being crowdfunded by Unbound Books. So it needs your support to make it a reality. Please pre-order your copy or tell your friends with babies